Well the Devil, He Plays a Golden Fiddle
by glass-jars
Summary: Blog for the fashion in this story: hissoulonhissleeve @ tumblr Contains familial abuse, violence, drinking. Two separate endings: One sad, one happy. Major character death. Musician AU. Samifer, sabriel, dubious michifer.
1. Old Scratch

_Hold on to your heart_  
_ 'Cause I'm coming to take it_  
_ Hold on to your heart_  
_ 'Cause I'm coming to break it_  
- Florence + the Machine, "Hardest of Hearts"

Sam essentially exploded into the tiny instrument shop, the bell above giving a violent jingle when he opened and closed the door with more force than most customers. To be fair it was hailing and raining—and hard—outside, and he just needed to escape the inclement weather. He stood for a moment leant against the door, to catch his breath, to wipe his sodden, floppy bangs from his eyes. He let out a breath.

The room was empty—no one behind the counter, or in sight. But the door directly adjacent to the entrance stood ajar and Sam could see a row of cello cases and a rack of half-finished violins and violas hung on a wall through the crack. A plucking noise sounded through the door. Tuning. Every once in a while the soft creak that only the wooden pegs under the scroll made. Sam shook his hair out of his eyes again, shrugging droplets off his shoulders.

The light was dim, soft and golden from adjustable lamps—a stark contrast to the blue squares thrown against the wall from the windows, with shadows of droplets twisting down. The patter of the rain and the twang of the strings was the only noise.

"Hello...?"

Sam stepped quietly. Heard the rustle of fabric and the tap of leather-soled shoes on wooden flooring. Everything was variations of fine wood. The door swung open the rest of the way, spilling out a warmth that made Sam gravitate closer.

"My apologies. I didn't hear the bell."

The man was tall—almost as tall as Sam, and much heavier set. He wore cream colored shoes with scarlet stitching that probably cost more than Sam's cell phone bill, and crisp burgundy slacks with a white dress shirt, sleeves rolled up to the elbows, and burgundy red suspenders. Very 1920's. He held, in his arms, a finely grained and heavily flamed violin stained with the most delicate of golds so that it flashed like a piece of amber in the light. A string was loose. Sam assumed the man must have been re-stringing the instrument.

Sam twitched out a bashful smile. "I—sorry. It's just. Raining so hard and all I kind of went through the first door I recognized. Um." He scratched the back of his neck. "Sorry."

"You recognized The Golden Fiddle before the McDonald's at the corner...?" The man—with clear grey-blue eyes—smirked. He headed toward the front counter, setting his violin down on the glass. "Well, I'm flattered. Anything you need?" His blond hair went white under the light from the street.

Sam's tongue flicked out to the corner of his mouth before he said, "Um. A towel... would be nice. But—I mean." He held up his hands. "Never mind. Do you sell rosin?" And what kind of a stupid question was that? Of course he sold rosin, he ran a music store with a heavy focus on stringed instruments. He could kick himself. His grimace must have been more obvious than he wanted.

The man laughed, louder than Sam expected—Sam jumped a little bit. "Do I sell rosin? Is the sky blue?!"

Sam glanced out the window. "Um, usually?"

Lucifer snorted. "What kind of rosin are you looking for, King Kong?" He tilted his head, and it seemed... unsettling.

"There are different types?" Sam tried to act like he knew something more about the instrument he played, but if he were honest with himself, despite his natural skill with a bow, he really lacked a lot of technical knowledge. He learned to play from a worn-out old woman at Ellen's bar, and by ear, and through years of practice on an old hunk of plywood.

Another guffaw. "What do you play?"

"Cello."

The shop's owner sauntered out from behind the counter, over to a little array of tins and pouches. He sorted through them, and with a thoughtful noise, picked one in a white velvet pouch, with the label underneath in gold. "My brother Michael makes this one—it's dark with copper, and works well with most anything." He tapped his knuckle, with a hum. "Though it's likely too expensive for you. What do you usually use?"

Sam frowned. "I dunno. Uh... it's this really old cake and the container or the cloth or whatever is gone. Was a gift from my godmother." He shrugged, and stuck his hands into his pocket, looking around the cozy little shop in as natural a manner as he could manage.

The shopkeeper shook his head with an exasperated smile, like he'd heard that line so many times and it just amused him. He pressed the rosin between his palms, interlacing his fingers and tapping his hands against his lips. He approached Sam, and held out the rosin. "Tell ya what, big boy." He grinned and something about it struck Sam as feral and capital-D Dangerous. He reached down to pull Sam's hand from his pocket and pass the rosin from rough palm to still-soft fingers. "You take that free of charge, and you try it out, and if you don't like it you can bring it back." His hand lingered on Sam's wrist for a moment before he stepped back. "And if you like it, tell everyone where you got it. Deal?" He winked.

Sam nodded, swallowing before saying, "Deal."

The man clapped him on the shoulder. "Good boy."

"My name's Sam." He found himself blurting it out.

The shop owner leered. "Nicholas Luciferius D'Angelo, proprietor of The Golden Fiddle." He held out his broad hand for Sam to shake. "My friends call me Old Scratch."

Sam shook his hand.

It was cold.


	2. Lucifer

_The Devil opened up his case and he said, "I'll start this show."  
And fire flew from his fingertips as he rosined up his bow.  
And he pulled the bow across the strings and it made an evil hiss.  
And a band of demons joined in and it sounded something like this._

- The Charlie Daniels Band, "The Devil Went Down to Georgia"

Sam hadn't the slightest clue why he felt drawn to the shop. He liked the rosin well enough, didn't plan on returning it. But something about the gold leaf of the window sign and the black wood of the door and the sheer white curtains drew him back toward it, one day while he ate lunch in the McDonald's.

This time he opened the door much more carefully, so that the bell only tinkled somewhat. Mr. D'Angelo looked up from his seat behind the counter, scribbling something in a ledger with a heavy brown leather cover. That day he wore all white, a full ensemble including a bow tie and a jacket slung over the back of his chair. He shot Sam a lopsided grin, flashing rather exceptionally sharp canines. "Well if it isn't Sammy."

"Hello, Mr. D'Angelo. I was just..." Sam sifted through his thoughts for a suitable excuse. "Needed some new strings." He shrugged, simpered with hunched shoulders and an embarrassed tilt of the head.

"Mr. D'Angelo? _Mister?_ No, call me Lucifer." He stood up, and crouched down behind the counter to fiddle around with something. He straightened up again with a packet of strings in his hand, and waved Sam over. Sam shuffled to the desk with a smile.

"You go by your middle name?" Sam flicked his bangs out of his eyes with a shake of his head.

Lucifer snickered. He rang up the strings and said, "I think Luciferius is more interesting than Nicholas, don't you?" He held out his hand, palm up and fingers straight. Sam passed him a twenty dollar bill.

"Lucifer it is, then." Sam smiled, and his cheeks dimpled.

Lucifer rolled his eyes. He leaned forward on his elbows with a handful of change, winked and said, "Good boy." He tucked Sam's change into the breast pocket of his plaid shirt. "Now scram."

Sam did as he was told.

Lucifer walked him leave with a predatory look in his eyes.


	3. The Prince of Hell

_Blister please, with those wings in your spine._  
_Love to be with a brother of mine._  
_How he'd love to find your tongue in his teeth,_  
_In a struggle to find secret songs that you keep,_  
_Wrapped in boxes so tight, sounding only at night as you sleep._

- Neutral Milk Hotel, "Two-Headed Boy Pt. 2"

The violin, such a pale color with a brown chinrest and tuning pegs and tailpiece, and bone-inlaid purfling, fit in the crook of Lucifer's neck as if it were a part of him. It rested on his shoulder without a rest, and his jaw fit into the chin rest as if it cradled him naturally. Sam wondered, watching him lift his bow, whether Lucifer made the violin for himself, or if someone else had made it. Either way, anyone could tell the instrument belonged specifically to Lucifer and never to anyone else. An extra limb, almost.

Lucifer touched his bow to the strings—cat gut—but held it still. Sam's eyes were drawn to the gold wiring and the fleur-de-lis in the frog. That bow, if he had to guess, cost more than his yearly tuition. The violin itself? At least as much. Probably over $9000. Sam did some quick estimates in his head and decided that if he were to buy something equivalent to Lucifer's set it would cost him nearly $20,000. Sam blinked.

Lucifer played some quick notes, smirking at Sam's wide-eyed expression as if he knew exactly what Sam's thoughts focused on. Shifted on his feet. Some simple scales and arpeggios.

Sam frowned. "Arpeggios? Really?" He crossed and uncrossed his ankles. Lucifer laughed.

"Yes, really, Sam." He swung his arm out wide, gesturing with his bow and Sam flinched, afraid he'd break it and blame him, though he knew such a fear was entirely irrational. "The basics are extremely important, and act as a good way to warm up. I'm not exactly twenty anymore."

Sam looked down at his feet. He felt his face heat up and that only made him more embarrassed, because his entire face turned pink when he blushed. "Sorry, I—" He rubbed the back of his neck, elbows resting on his knees. His back became a slope with the downward turn of his head. "Sorry."

Lucifer laughed. "Don't apologize. I _invited_ you to hear me play, after all. And no one wants to listen to the same progression of notes back and forth like that." His shoes—this time, a pair of black dress shoes—entered Sam's field of vision, and Sam looked up from his little slice of the floor to find Lucifer staring down at him with an unsettling focus. Sam licked his lower lip.

Lucifer's serious expression gave way to a crooked smirk. He raised an eyebrow, and leaned down with his violin and bow in one hand and reached out the other to poke Sam's nose. "You're a dork." He raised his eyebrows. Sam blinked. Lucifer straightened up and stepped away, and spun on his heel as he lifted his bow with an elegant flourish completely different from before to draw it across the strings. A slow, long, almost gritty note that gave way to fast fingers and a sawing of the bow that Sam only ever saw on the stage. Lucifer emanated the technique and grace of a professional violinist and the rough passion of a self-taught fiddle player. An interesting combination.

Sam forgot to breathe. His eyes glued themselves to Lucifer's broad shoulders and back, and followed the rise and fall of his elbow and the scrape of his fingers across the neck of the violin. Fantastic. Sam relaxed into his chair and let out a sigh and watched Lucifer play.

When Lucifer finished the piece he spread his arms wide and turned his face up to the ceiling. Stretching his neck and rolling his shoulders. The violin and bow hung loosely in his grasp. He turned slowly. His eyes were closed. Sam barely dared to blink.

"Some violin concerto I've forgotten the name of." Lucifer opened his eyes. "I think it's a Tchaikovsky piece." He bared his teeth in a grin. "But it's a lot of fun." He turned to the counter and set his instrument down. "I only played the first couple of minutes though." He tapped a finger against his chin.

Sam nodded. "It was... good." Good? Really? Sam scrunched his face up and rubbed his hand over his forehead. "Uh. I mean... Yeah." He sighed.

Lucifer chuckled. He hooked his thumbs through his suspenders. "How old are you, Sam?"

Sam looked up. "Twenty-two. Why?"

"Just curious."

Lucifer picked up his bow again, turning it between his fingers and inspecting its length, perhaps looking for any split hairs. He thumbed the base of the frog thoughtfully. "Would you mind playing for me, sometime?" He turned his ashy blue eyes on Sam, sharp and calculating. "I'd like to see how well those pretty fingers can move." He winked.

Sam blushed. "Uh. Sure, I—I'll bring my cello next time?" He scratched at his throat. Lucifer's strangely cold gaze made him restless.

Lucifer nodded, and laid his bow down beside the cash register again. "Good, good." He stretched his arms behind his back and cracked his neck. "Oh, and, since you're clearly curious, I'm forty." He grinned.

Sam returned his smile somewhat uneasily.

The look in Lucifer's eyes reminded him of a husky—all chill and fierce. He shook himself and stood. "Anyway, I better go. My big brother's probably wondering where I'm at." He rolled his eyes. "He's so overprotective."

Lucifer snorted. "I know exactly what you mean. Michael's the same way." He strode over to Sam and gripped Sam's hand between his palms, a mix between a handshake and a caress. "I'll see you soon." His eyes held Sam's.

"Yeah. Yeah, see you."


	4. Beelzebub

_Don't be afraid of me, don't be ashamed._  
_Walk in the way of my soft resurrection._  
_Idol of roses, iconic soul. I know your name._  
_Lead me to war with your brilliant direction_

- Lana Del Rey, "Bel Air"

"Sam, do I frighten you?"

Sam looked up fast enough to hurt his neck. "What?"

"You're gripping your bow so hard I'm afraid you'll break it." Lucifer snagged a nearby chair and dragged alongside Sam and his lovely dark cello. He pressed the palm of his left hand against Sam's shoulder, the fabric of his shirt soft on his skin, and slid his other hand down Sam's arm to wrap his fingers around his wrist. (They curled around his arm easily, and Lucifer marveled at the slenderness of college students.)

Sam's spine stiffened—almost unnoticeable—and he licked the corner of his mouth. "I'm just nervous. Been awhile since I played for someone other than Dean." He gave Lucifer an awkward smile. Lucifer rolled his eyes.

"Whatever you say, Sammy."

Sammy wanted to protest the nickname but Lucifer jostled him around, roughly, to reposition the cello in his arms and the line of the bow. He pushed at Sam's fingers until he held the neck in a less familiar, but more professional looking, way.

"So, Sam. What are you going to play?" Lucifer leaned back, and the withdrawal of the coolness of his hands left Sam feeling too warm. Lucifer smirked, resting an ankle on the opposite knee and adjusting his tie.

Sam bit his lip. "Uh." He cleared his throat. "Right. A Chopin piece. Um. Cello sonata in G minor, opus 65. It's one of my favorite to play so I—" He coughed. "Sorry." He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, shoulders stiff. He leaned forward and the line of his body relaxed ever-so-slightly as he began to play. Lucifer saw clearly that Sam enjoyed the cello. His eyes flickered back and forth from his sheet music to the fingerboard and his bow hand in a constant flash of concentration and he moved well. Whoever taught him the basics taught him well.

Lucifer interrupted him about five minutes through to say, "Who did you say you learned from?"

Sam jumped. He'd been focused enough on the music he'd forgotten Lucifer was watching him. Despite the fact that he sat at his elbow. "Oh—just a friend of my godmother. Pamela. She was blind, but knew how to play really well." He paused, laying his bow across his knees and relaxing into his seat somewhat. He smiled, softly. "After that, in high school, I joined the orchestra and it was... different... but fun. And I kept on through college. I'm minoring in music theory and majoring in linguistics." He frowned. "Sorry. I guess you probably don't care about that." He grimaced.

Lucifer laughed. "No, it's interesting." He patted Sam's shoulder, and uncrossed his legs. "So you've been playing for...?"

"Ten years."

Lucifer nodded. "Not bad at all." He tapped his chin with two fingers. He stood, and sauntered over to his violin, in its customary spot near the cash register. He caressed the strings—it was strangely tender, the way he looked at the instrument. "You know, one of my little brothers plays cello." He turned around and rested his elbows on the counter. "Maybe you two could play sometime. Though, he'd mop the floor with you. Been playing for about twenty years."

Sam laughed. He tried to seem completely unfazed but the thought of playing with someone with twice his experience made his gut twist nervously. He'd never live up to their expectations, certainly. Especially considering Lucifer hadn't even let him finish playing.

"Oh, come on. Don't look at me like that." Lucifer crossed his arms, and shifted his weight to one foot. He raised his eyebrows. "Gabe's not gonna hurt you if you mess up. He'll just tease a little."

Sam shook his head. "Maybe." He smiled. "But hey, at least I'll probably be taller than him."

Lucifer laughed. "Oh believe me, you'll be taller than him."

Sam grinned.


	5. Old Nick

_Young hearts, out our minds_  
_Running 'til we outta time_  
_Wild child's lookin' good_  
_Living hard just like we should_

- Ke$ha, "Die Young"

"Is that... the Star Wars theme?"

The (admittedly kinda short) man at the grand piano looked up with a wide grin. Sam noticed the feathered costume wings on his back and raised an eyebrow, as the man stood up and held his hand out eagerly for Sam to shake. "Well hi there, Big Bird! I'm Gabriel. What's your name?" He waggled his eyebrows, giving Sam a long look up and down—equal parts appraisal and caution. Testing for a potential friend or enemy, perhaps.

Sam grinned. Gabriel seemed... odd... but Sam liked him so far. "I'm Sam—Sam Winchester. And you're Lucifer's younger brother, right?" He pulled his hand back from Gabriel's tight grip.

Gabe nodded. "Eeyup!" He shoved his hands in his pockets, and tilted back on his heels with a smirk plastered across his face that was probably almost permanent.

"I thought you played cello?" Sam tilted his head, and flicked his bangs out of his eyes.

Lucifer laughed. "He does." He grabbed Sam's elbow in one hand and Gabriel's shoulder in the other and steered them toward the couch. "We all—well everyone but Mike—play an instrument, but Gabe here is the true musician of the family. Isn't that right, Angelface?"

Gabriel winked. "Damn straight, Old Scratch."

Lucifer slapped him on the back.

Which reminded Sam of something.

"Not to be rude but..." Sam cleared his throat, a little awkward. He scratched his head. "Why are you wearing wings?"

Gabriel let out a bark of laughter, clapping his hands. His smile widened (and Sam wondered how long it would be until his face cracked in half). "I clean forgot I was wearin' 'em!" He slung his arm around Lucifer's shoulders and leaned across him to wink at Sam. "They make me feel _pretty_." He smirked.

Sam snorted. "Okay."

Lucifer stood up abruptly, dislodging Gabriel from his side—the shorter man let out a yelp and narrowly avoided rolling off his couch. Lucifer rolled his eyes. "Anyhow. There is a reason we're here. Sam wanted to hear you play." He planted his hands on his hips. "Isn't that right, Sam?"

Sam wanted to protest, since the idea to come here had been Lucifer's, but... Something about the flinty gray in Lucifer's eyes made Sam nervous so he just nodded with all the enthusiasm he could muster. Truth be told, Sam was a little embarrassed to be at the (large and stylish) house of the younger brother of a man who ran a violin shop Sam had been to less than a dozen times. But he wanted to hear Gabriel play nonetheless.

Gabriel leapt to his feet, stretching his arms above his head with a loud "Alrighty then!" He raised an eyebrow at Sam and spun on his heel, clearly wanting them to follow him. Sam laughed, and trailed behind Lucifer, through a hallway and up a flight of terrifyingly mod stairs before they all ended up in a spacious bedroom. A huge bed sat shoved in one corner, with a combination of luxurious sheets and what appeared to be a Star Trek comforter and an Iron Man pillow. Lining the opposite wall hung an electric violin, a viola, an acoustic guitar and was that a _sitar?_ and an electric guitar. A keyboard had been propped up against the wall as well, next to a bookcase absolutely packed with DVDs and VHS tapes. An overstuffed armchair observed the room from the corner opposite the bed, beside a door labeled with a tacky pink sign reading "The Princess' Closet."

Sam snorted.

Gabriel turned to him, beaming widely. He'd pulled two cellos out from underneath his bed (and Sam could not imagine shoving his instrument under his bed, of all places!) One, a plain white cello with yellowy strings that Sam rarely saw, and the other a very minimal electric cello shaped like a backwards S and the color of a gold dollar coin. And glittery. He tossed the electric onto his bed with ease—it was more air than instrument, honestly—and sat down beside it, pulling the white cello into place and leaning down briefly to rummage underneath his bed until he found his bow and lifted it with a triumphant grin.

Sam opened his mouth to comment on Gabe's unorthodox storage methods, but Gabriel winked at him and put the bow to the string after tightening it just so, and dove straight into the cleanest rendition of Queen's "Princes of the Universe" Sam had ever heard. Not that he had anything to compare it to considering he'd never heard anyone play Queen on the cello before. (He could see Gabriel singing under his breath, too, which just made him hold back half a giggle.)

Lucifer started to cackle outright, sinking into the armchair. He shook his head.

Sam just grinned, but when Gabriel changed tack halfway through and went into a frenzied cover of "Final Countdown" he couldn't hold it in any longer and burst out laughing. Gabriel glanced up with a huge grin but he kept playing through 'til the end of the song. Sam managed to stop laughing enough to listen, and really Gabriel's technique left no doubt in Sam's mind that the man had training. His playing screamed "Superb!"

When Gabriel laid his bow on his covers and lowered the cello to the ground, Lucifer and Sam both clapped. Gabe stood and bowed with a flourish, costume wings rustling on his back. "Thank you, thank you. You're very kind." He lifted an eyebrow. "Sorry I didn't play something more refined but I hate reading music, and I don't have any of that prissy shit memorized." He hooked his thumbs through his belt loops and strolled closer, to stand just to the side of Lucifer and Sam. He smiled.

Sam grinned at him. "No, it was great. Your fingering was really good."

Gabriel's grin widened, going feral. "That's not the only kind of fingering I'm good at." He winked.

Sam blinked, and felt his face turn red. He covered his mouth, holding back an inelegant laugh, hunching his shoulders. Gabriel wiggled one eyebrow and sauntered out of the room. Lucifer just chuckled, letting Sam shake his way through a fit of giggles.

"You really are a college student." Lucifer tilted his head.

Sam rolled his eyes, blushing. "Shut up. I was caught off guard." He snorted and rubbed his mouth absently.

From down the hall, Gabriel's voice echoed—"Hey, who wants an omelet?! I have like five dozen eggs I need to get rid of!"

Sam pulled a face. "Only if you have vegetables to go with it!"

Lucifer joined in with, "If mine isn't drowning in cheese and bacon fat I'm telling Kali you haven't written the latest commission!"

"I hate you both!"

Sam smiled.

Lucifer stood, popping his back and putting a hand on Sam's shoulder. "So?"

Sam smirked. "Your brother's kinda... weird... But I like him."

Lucifer grinned. "Good."

"Hey, Sasquatch! Get down here and pick your veggies or I'll just throw everything I have in your eggs!"

Sam laughed and headed for the kitchen.


	6. Satan

(Quick note: I am updating fairly quick because this is what happens: I write a bunch and then slow down to updating much less often. I'll try not to get too slow though. 3)

_You're digging for gold  
Yet throwing away  
A fortune in feelings  
But someday you'll pay_

- Foreigner, "Cold as Ice"

Sam loosened his red plaid scarf from his neck, bundling it up and shoving it in his pocket before shucking his coat off to drape it on the back of his threadbare couch. He loped into his puny kitchen—a "one butt kitchen" as Dean liked to call it, due to the fact that it barely fit one person at a time—and rummaged in his fridge. It was fairly barren, considering it was the end of the month and his food stamps wouldn't be through until the 2nd of November. So... a few days, and then he could stock up on vegetables and the like. For now he'd have to make due with a grilled cheese for dinner. He wished he got a bit more from financial aid and work study, but it worked well enough to keep him housed. And he refused to accept charity from Bobby and Ellen. (And certainly not from his father—not that John would be able to give him money anyhow, considering it all went to booze.)

He blew out a puff of air. The heater didn't really reach the kitchen so he shivered a bit as he waited for the pan to heat up, and his mind wandered to the D'Angelos. He nibbled on his lower lip. His friendship with Lucifer was a little unorthodox, he had to admit. Not a lot of twenty-something year old college students befriended middle aged violinists, generally. But he got along well with the older man. They had a surprising amount in common, and when Sam tinkered around The Golden Fiddle, he felt welcome—if a little uneasy. (And that... Just something about Lucifer put him off a bit. He liked him well enough, but something in the man's eyes screamed "DANGER" and told Sam to run. But he didn't. His instincts were almost always wrong, after all.)

Sam snorted, thinking on his poor decisions in the past. Ruby acted as a pretty clear indicator of his poor choices—falling in with her, sleeping with her, doing drugs with her. Luckily they got arrested and he was young enough, still, to only go to Juvie, and Dean had basically forced him to get clean and fall back into school with a whirlwind determination. Without his Winchester brand stubbornness, Sam doubted he'd ever have gotten into even a community college, let alone the mediocre university near Sioux Falls. He managed to plow his way through senior year, though, and bring his GPA from a 2.5 to a 3.8 in six months. Took a damn lot of extra credit and puppy eyes.

But there he was.

Senior year of college, with his own apartment. Self-sufficient for the most part, doing things he liked. Majoring in linguistics and minoring in music theory. He'd dated here and there and that was okay. No one quite clicked like his old 9th grade flame—Jessica—but... She was far away at Stanford, and they had dwindled into Just Friends by 11th grade anyhow. Now, acquaintances. Weird how that happened sometimes. You think, "this person is going to be my best friend for life" and it never really turns out that way. Sam huffed out a breath, and flipped his delicately burning sandwich onto a plate. (Just the way he liked it. A billion degrees and smoldering on the edges.

Sam made his way to the couch, flicking on the tiny TV to play reruns of The Simpsons as he sat down with his heated plate in his lap. He closed his eyes and relaxed while his sandwich cooled somewhat. He'd taken a midterm in one of his advanced linguistics classes that day, and needed to just... not think.

He watched TV for about an hour, and then decided going to bed early appealed to him. So he brushed his teeth at eight o'clock, changed into some soft, hand-me-down flannel pajamas, and slid into bed.

He dreamed that Lucifer and Gabriel stared at him from the top of a tree, and three pairs of wings sprouted from each of their backs—dark blue for Lucifer and honey colored for Gabriel.

He awoke at 3 am distinctly unsettled.

When he went back to sleep, he didn't dream.


	7. The Devil

_I could feel a hot one taking me down_  
_For a moment, I could feel the force_  
_Fainted to the point of tears_  
_And you were holding on to make a point_  
_What's the point?_

- Manchester Orchestra, "I Can Feel a Hot One"

"Welcome to Casa de Gabriel!" Gabriel threw his arms wide to greet Sam's family—Dean, Jo, Ash, and of course Castiel. (Where Dean went, Cas followed. Including this Halloween party Sam had somehow been invited to.) Gabe swept them in and his silly little feathered wings seemed much less out of place at a costume party, especially now that he'd added a fuzzy halo and what looked like a white bathrobe. Sam snorted. It sure beat Castiel's "costume"—literally just his normal slacks and button down, but with a t-shirt pulled uncomfortably over it, spray painted silver by Dean, with sharpied on buttons. A robot, apparently.

The little Winchester-Harvelle-Singer-Novak group clustered around each other and followed Gabriel into his home, Jo and Sam at the lead (dressed as Luke Skywalker and Supergirl, respectively), Ash not far behind in his trucker getup, with Dean and Castiel bringing up the rear—Dean done up as a cowboy. ("Cowboys are awesome, Sammy.")

The house was lavishly decorated with silly novelty lights—strings of pumpkins and ghosts—as well as the occasional skull-shaped candle and light-up punch bowl here and there. The crowd, however looked surprisingly thin. Sam noted his orchestra instructor, Professor Crowley, speaking quietly in the corner with his daughter Meg, before dusting his suit off and leaving. Probably too busy to indulge in something as inane as a Halloween party. Sam just thought it was funny that he chauffeured his 25 year old daughter, as if she were ten years younger.

Meg saw them, and gave Castiel a smirk and a wave. Cas waved politely back. They'd dated, a couple of years back, but now they remained friends. Dean still stiffened jealously when they interacted, and Sam rolled his eyes, sharing a pointed look with Jo. They had a bet going on how long it'd be before Dean and Cas finally got together. Sam's bet was on another year. Jo said never.

Meg turned away, to speak with Abaddon—the main bassist in the college's orchestra—and Dean visibly relaxed. Sam rolled his eyes again and drifted away from his siblings to scope out the few other people. A slightly older black man and someone Sam assumed must be his son were speaking with Gabriel and a handsome guy who looked to be around Sam's age, dark-haired and remarkably familiar. Sam realized he looked like Lucifer. Maybe a younger brother. (Much, much younger.)

Gabriel glanced in Sam's direction and perked up. He waved his hand frantically, wings bouncing with the motion of his arm. Sam laughed, and strode over to them. "Hi. I'm Sam Winchester." He stuck his arm out, and shook the hands of all three strangers.

Gabriel grabbed Sam's wrist in a surprisingly tight grip. He pointed to the eldest man—probably about Bobby's age, and tall. "This is Uriel D'Angelo, Sam. He's our dad. Well. Adoptive. Really he's like our God-uncle or something." Sam smiled as Gabriel babbled on. "And that's Raphael, his actual son by blood." He slapped the strapping younger man on the shoulder. "This is Michael. He's the youngest. Only 23! Lucifer is 17 years older than him! Parents must've been _busy_!" Michael smiled charmingly at Sam. "He's the only one of us who doesn't play an instrument! Prefers workin' with trees and shit. He makes the rosin Luci sells." Sam grinned at the nickname. Then Gabriel dragged him away, like a little 5'8" whirlwind of excitement and feathers.

He was re-introduced to Meg and Abaddon, though he already knew them both—Meg being in the orchestra, and Abaddon being Ruby's older sister. He greeted them politely.

And then it was off to a very pretty Indian woman named Kali who, Gabe informed Sam with wild gesticulations, acted as Gabriel's manager and ensured he got enough composition jobs and commissions to survive. She had a predatory smile and eyes like fire. She frightened Sam.

And then it was to enthusiastically shake the hand of another person Sam already knew. Castiel's older brother Balthazar, who had raised Cas since their parents died—Balthazar had only been 14 at the time, but Cas turned out surprisingly well, considering he'd been raised by a promiscuous teenager for half of his life. Balthazar kissed Sam's cheek, and Sam could smell that he'd already gotten into the alcohol. Sam smiled, and winced as Gabriel tugged insistently enough on his arm to sting. He followed the shorter man to the center of the living room, to stand beside the grand piano. Lucifer stood beside it.

Sam grinned at Lucifer's outfit. A blazingly white suit, immaculate. And a little pair of red plastic horns and a devil's tail pinned to the trousers. Lucifer winked at Sam, and tilted his wine glass toward him with a positively evil smirk. Sam blushed, and felt a mixture of mild fear and arousal. Which was... well. He scratched the back of his neck, and looked down to the side. He noticed Gabriel spacing out, body rigid.

"Hey, Gabriel. You okay?"

Gabriel's eyes snapped up. His smile seemed stiff and his eyes, somewhat glazed over. "Hm?"

Beside him, Sam heard Lucifer huff irritably. Lucifer stepped past Sam, and their hands brushed briefly, sending a cold spark of something like lust up Sam's spine. (And that was worrisome. The man was 18 years his senior.) Lucifer rested his broad hands on either side of Gabriel's face.

"Angelface, I need you to listen to me, okay?" His back curved smooth so he could put his face level with Gabe's. Gabriel's eyes fastened on Lucifer's and he blinked. "Take a breather."

Gabriel gave his head a distracted shake, and blinked again, violently. He took a breath. "_God_. Yeah." He rubbed his face with both hands and a gusty sigh. "Sorry, bro. Just got a little distracted. You know me, all these people everywhere turn me into a goddamn statue." He cracked a smile, and it looked genuine. And then he was gone in a rustle of clothing and fake wings, walking out onto the balcony.

Lucifer sighed. "Fucking moron." He pinched the bridge of his nose between a forefinger and thumb. "I don't know why he bothers throwing parties when all they do is stress him out." He turned on his heel to face Sam, grabbing at his wine and sipping from it, leaning back against the piano. Sam inched closer, to stand beside him and rest his palms on the cool white wood. He tilted his head.

"Parties stress him out?" Sam frowned, forehead crinkling in that way Ash always said was "stupidly adorable."

Lucifer grinned. He tapped the knuckle of Sam's pinky with one finger. "Absolutely. Kid's great at talking to people, but when you get enough of 'em together in one room he freezes up. Feels like he has to talk to everyone. But he loves parties so much." He tilted his head back, letting his eyes slip closed. "Gabe just needs a bit of space, fresh air. Then he'll be okay. It happens."

Sam nodded. He felt bad for Gabriel, but imagined pity wouldn't please him. He swung his gaze around the room, at the little groups of people. Saw Cas and Dean staring at each other—as they were wont to do—in the corner. Ash had struck up a conversation with Meg and Abaddon. Jo stood by the table that'd been set out, picking at food and talking animatedly with Balthazar and Michael. Uriel observed them all coolly, and Raphael seemed to be in a drinking contest with Kali. Kali was winning.

Sam smiled. It was a nice little party.

Gabe burst back into the room with a whoop. Sam flinched, along with half the room.

"Hey Raph! Tickle the ivories for us, will ya?!" Gabe's halo bobbed.

Raphael rolled his eyes and made his way toward the piano, smiling at Lucifer and Sam as he sat down, hands surprisingly steady after five shots of tequila.

From across the room, Sam heard Ash shout, "Play Freebird!" and couldn't help but let out an unflattering snort. Lucifer chuckled low beside him. The sound made Sam shiver.

Raphael waved his arm at Ash, and surprisingly, actually started to play "Freebird." It sounded... sweet and refined. Ash laughed from across the room, and so did Jo.

Drinks flowed as much as music, that night, and even Lucifer looked unsteady on his feet, swaying to the clamor of an enthusiastic piano and cello rendition of "Smooth Criminal." (Raphael still controlled the keys, but Gabriel had plugged in his electric cello to join in, and Meg sang the words with a gusto Sam forgot she had. Usually she acted surly but when it came to singing she could really belt it.) Sam giggled into his glass of spiked cider at her imitation of Michael Jackson's signature crotch grab. She laughed too. Everyone laughed, really. Everyone seemed happy and drunk and friendly. Even Castiel displayed that gummy smile, with Dean leaning against him heavily.

By the end of the night, everyone quieted down significantly. Crowley showed up in his slick Rolls Royce to gather Meg, and she offered to give Cas a ride home, which somehow ended up in Sam's professor herding Dean, Castiel and Meg into his huge car and pulling out of the drive with a bitter scowl in place. Sam could see Jo grimacing into her phone. Considering the time—2 am—Sam guessed Bobby and Ellen both refused to pick up their children. Ash and Jo called a cab. Abaddon and Kali grabbed a taxi as well, and they traveled together because "I'd rather travel with a woman I've just met than get mugged paying for a cab."

Balthazar realized that his little brother had left without him and extricated himself from Gabriel (and boy Sam wouldn't have gone near that little grope fest with a ten foot pole) long enough to figure out which direction to walk home in. He left grumbling the whole way about "ungrateful little shits who abandon their father figures," sporting something like three hickies.

That left Sam, and the D'Angelo family. Uriel slept in an armchair. Raphael, on the couch. Sam figured they'd leave in the morning—just as Sam seemed to be destined to do. He sighed, rubbing his eyes. Dean had come up before leaving, to tell Sam, "I'm going home with these guys so you better get my Baby back home in the morning." He didn't even bother to ask if Sam originally planned on staying the night. Or if Sam was busy. Luckily Gabriel overheard, and just clapped Sam on the back and said, "Hey, you can use my bed. No biggie!"

Now, Sam watched Lucifer pull Michael tight against his side and weave over. Lucifer leered crookedly at Sam. "I assume you're sleeping wherever, Big Boy, so I'm just... Lettin' you know, I'll be in the spare bedroom. Me and Michael." He prodded Sam with one finger. "'Kay?"

Sam nodded. "A'right." He wobbled, uncertain. The Halloween lights disoriented him. He sort of stood for a few minutes, brain moving sluggishly until Gabriel seemingly materialized next to him, making Sam jump.

"Come on, Biscuit." Gabriel clamped his fingers around Sam's bicep, and spoke as if he were trying a little too hard—overly enunciated, too pronounced. Sam let himself be dragged toward Gabriel's bedroom, and shoved into the bed. Gabriel retreated to his chair, pulling his electric cello with him. He eyed Sam, squinting comically, and said, "You just do whatever you do, and sleep there. _I_ am going to sit here and pretend I can play while hammered." His serious expression gave way to a toothy grin and Sam laughed at him, sprawling himself out across the covers. He liked the size of the bed, and how he could stretch out all the way without worrying about whether or not his limbs would stick out into the air.

"Y'talk funny when you're drunk." Sam thought his voice had been too quiet to hear, but Gabriel's snorty giggle said otherwise. Sam smiled. He listened to the barely-there scrape of bow across unamplified strings and drifted off to sleep.

He dreamed of Lucifer and Michael wrapped around each other in a hammock, shirtless and serene.

Sometime later, Sam woke to the sound of someone apparently hacking up their insides. He groaned. His face felt like it was made of plastic and his mouth seemed to have been reupholstered with shag carpet. His joints creaked as he sat up. The clock read 7 am. He scowled. Swore under his breath.

Ignoring whoever was dying in the toilet, Sam wriggled his way out of his jeans. The backs of his knees and his hips were lined with red creases where the stiff denim had dug into his skin. He kicked his pants to the floor and lay back against the pillows, grateful for the brush of air on his legs.

Water ran loudly in the bathroom, and he heard an electric toothbrush. More water. Hissed curses. The light streaming from the little room flicked out and Gabriel shuffled into the bedroom, in a wifebeater and red silk boxers. Sam snorted—then grimaced, reaching up to rub his temple—and Gabriel glared at him.

"Move yer ass or I'll push you to the floor, ya fuckin' giraffe." Much less clear, much less cheerful. Sam supposed a hangover would do that to a man.

Sam blinked, and pressed his way off to the side. Gabe climbed into the bed beside him, and Sam had no idea such a small man could take up so much space. He even stole all of the sheets—not that Sam needed them, considering he radiated heat like a stove. But the cocoon Gabriel made for himself in a twist of silk and cotton baffled Sam. It seemed stifling. But Gabriel clearly didn't mind. Sam shook his head, and turned to face the wall.

In the morning, he left the house silent while everyone still slept, and dropped the Impala off at Dean's apartment before catching the bus home and passing out in his own bed.


	8. Morningstar

_Please don't stand so close to me; I'm having trouble breathing. _  
_I'm afraid of what you'll see right now._  
_I give you everything I am, all my broken heartbeats, until I know you'll understand._

- Christina Perri, "Distance"

"I didn't have the chance to tell you earlier, but I liked your costume." Lucifer finished wiping down the un-stained body of a viola-in-progress, and set it to the side. He gave Sam a smile.

Sam blushed. "Uh, thanks." He grinned. "You too. Your costume was a lot more uh... dashing... than mine." He snorted and stretched out his legs, working on tightening the strings of a new cello. (Late November, and Lucifer had hired him on as a part-timer, and Sam was so grateful because it allowed him to occasionally buy a few books, or a new pair of shoes.)

Lucifer chuckled—the low laugh that made Sam's stomach turn. "Nonsense," he murmured. "Skywalker is just as dashing as the Devil in a suit." His expression morphed to something dark and teasing. Sam averted his eyes, and cleared his throat. Lucifer snorted, stepping around the edge of the counter and heading through the back room—probably to go up to his apartment above the store and grab something he'd forgotten, or fix lunch. Sam returned his attention to restringing the cello with much more concentration.

He got so absorbed in his task he didn't even notice Lucifer's return. Not until Lucifer crowded into his personal space and waved a plate under his nose—the smell of warm peaches and cinnamon jolted Sam back into the real world and he stared a little cross-eyed at the mound of peach cobbler in front of him. He blinked rapidly, and smiled. "For me?"

Lucifer rolled his eyes. "No, for the cat. Yes, it's for you, you big oaf." Lucifer snagged the neck of the cello and tugged it from Sam's grasp, setting the plate on his lap. "If you don't eat it, I'll be offended." He lugged the cello off to a stand, and settled it in, before retrieving his own plate from where he'd set it on a shelf, and sat down near Sam to eat. Sam thanked him, and followed suit.

"_Ohmygod_." Sam all but moaned around the cobbler. "This is amazing. Did you make this?"

Lucifer frowned at him. "Don't talk with your mouth full." He took a vicious bite before continuing. "Yeah, it's Gabe's recipe but I made it—last night." He smirked. "Glad you seem to be enjoying it."

Sam made sure to swallow before opening his mouth this time, and thumped his chest with one fist. "Now I know how Dean feels when he sees a cherry pie. Seriously, it's really good, and I don't even like sweet stuff that much."

"Gabe would be horrified to hear that. Sweets are a religion for him. But I'll let him know you like the recipe." Lucifer winked, and licked his fork.

Later, Sam was going through the shop, turning out lights and putting away stray bottles of polish, when Gabriel burst in through the front door with a violent jingle.

"NICHOLAS!" Gabriel's voice cracked, and Sam noted his shirtlessness despite the chill late autumn air. He wondered briefly who Nicholas was, then remembered—Lucifer's first name. Gabriel stood with his bare chest heaving in the center of the store, eyes wide and pupils blown 'til the gold of his iris could barely be seen. Lucifer's steps echoed loudly from the back room, and he ran in, tense.

"Gabriel." Lucifer held his hands up, placating, walking a slow circle toward his younger brother. He flicked his hand at Sam, and Sam locked the door with a loud thunk. Gabriel flinched, but kept his eyes on Lucifer, slowly regaining a more steady breathing pattern. Lucifer stepped toward him, and reached out. Gabriel swayed, closed his eyes briefly before opening them wide again, and let Lucifer lead him to a chair. Sam noted the tattoo on his back—six wings that formed a shape almost like a flower, but for the fact that the center wings stretched from his spine and wrapped clear to his elbows. He hovered by the door and watched the brothers sink down together—one into a low backed stool, the other to his haunches beside the seat.

Finally, Gabriel seemed to relax somewhat. "I can't do it, Nick." And Sam supposed that "Nick," while not as relaxed as "Luci," was better than "Nicholas." Gabe tilted forward, and slid off the chair into his brother's arms. "I can't take this job they want me to take—They want me to be responsible and you know I can't handle that and responsibility is too much and Kali told them no but they won't fucking _listen_." The last word trailed into a whine, and he dragged in a shuddering breath. His voice dropped to a whisper. "Sorry I'm so screwed up."

Lucifer patted Gabriel's back with a soft shushing noise, rocking his little brother in his arms just enough to be barely noticeable. "You're just stressed, Angelface." He settled himself more comfortably on the ground, and pulled Gabriel's face to press against his neck before mouthing at Sam, _Candy_, and gesturing toward the ceiling. Sam left the room to gentle mutters.

He wondered what exactly terrified Gabriel so much—what kind of responsibility would lead him to apparently run shirtless through town. He shrugged to himself, and slipped into Lucifer's apartment. The first he'd seen of it. Very clean, very conservative, and very white. He made his way to the kitchen, more spacious than his own but just barely, and searched the cupboards until he found a bag of fun-sized candy bars. He grabbed a handful of Twix and Snickers, and left as quickly as he'd come.

The sound of music floated up the stairwell. Sam paused briefly, before shaking his head and stepping quietly into the back room of the shop—the room where the instruments hung on display, with a few chairs and music stands. The practice room. Lucifer had moved Gabriel from the front to that room, situated him in a soft chair with a sleek cello between his knees, and Gabriel pulled notes from it like his life depended on it. He played from sheet music, which surprised Sam. What struck Sam more, though, was the way Gabriel's face contorted with each slide of the bow and press of his fingers—he looked like a man in mourning, like the sad song was more than just music and he was living the story it told. And maybe he was.

His left hand fluttered like a dying butterfly and the vibrato he coaxed from the strings sounded more delicate than any professional player Sam had ever heard.

Lucifer leaned close to Sam, and whispered, "As much as he normally hates reading from sheets, it helps him concentrate and calm down when he panics." He palmed the candy bars from Sam's hand, and Sam shook himself.

"Is he gonna be okay?" He crossed his arms.

Lucifer nodded. "He'll be alright." He chucked a Twix at Gabe, and Gabriel twitched when it hit his bare feet (and Sam hadn't noticed his lack of shoes before) but he only toed it away and kept playing "The Swan" like it was the only thing keeping him breathing. Lucifer shook his head and pulled Sam out of the room, leaving the candy on one of the chairs.

Sam met Lucifer's eyes, somewhat worried, still. "What's wrong—What's he afraid of?" He hunched his shoulders forward.

Lucifer sighed, and ran a hand through his short hair. "The company he works for most often wants an exclusive contract—and that wouldn't be so terrible but..." He leaned against the counter. "But, they also want him to supervise the making of a soundtrack for a fairly high profile film, and compose a large majority of the pieces." Lucifer closed his eyes.

"And he can't do it." Sam ventured. Lucifer nodded.

"Too much all at once. He prefers to work on one or two pieces, max, and usually short things for commercials and the like." Lucifer opened his eyes and smirked. "He's got a short attention span."

Sam let himself laugh quietly. From the other room, the music changed to a cello cover of "Eleanor Rigby," and Sam smiled. He took it as a good sign when Lucifer grinned as well. They peeked into the room, and saw Gabriel with a smear of his chocolate on his nose and his eyes closed with a small smile, leaning into every bowstroke.

Sam admired the way his inked wings shifted in the soft light with every movement, and the way Gabriel wielded the instrument like an extra body part.

Lucifer watched him watch Gabriel, and frowned—but it wasn't an unhappy frown, it was a thoughtful frown. Sam turned to look at him, raising an eyebrow, but Lucifer shook his head and smiled.

"Stop makin' eyes at each other and play with me!"

Sam jumped, and grinned at Gabriel. Lucifer laughed.

Gabriel beamed at them.


	9. Iblis

_Someday I'll wish upon a star _  
_And wake up where the clouds are far behind me._  
_Where troubles melt like lemon drops,_  
_Away above the chimney tops,_  
_That's where you'll find me._

- Judy Garland, "Somewhere Over the Rainbow"

Sam watched Lucifer and Gabriel huddled against each other on Gabriel's couch. Gabriel sawed at his white cello with a fierceness nearly unprecedented and Lucifer's fingers flew to hit the high notes for their cover of "Welcome to the Jungle." Beside Sam, on the piano bench, Michael tapped his feet with a wide grin. It was the four of them, having lunch at Gabriel's house, playing music and chatting. Sam liked being around someone closer to his own age, as well. He enjoyed Lucifer's company, and Gabriel's, but talking to Michael was nice because he understood what it was like to be in school in their generation, and knew some more modern music—not that Gabe and Lucifer didn't listen to new music. They both seemed to be absolutely in love with Florence + the Machine, and Gabriel had a penchant for trashy dance music. But... Sam just liked being around Michael. His easy smile comforted him.

"Mike! Be a doll and get me a glass of water, will you?" Lucifer's voice carried loud and smooth.

Michel's eyes crinkled, and he stood without a word. Lucifer didn't even bother to check if he was doing as asked—it was assumed. Michael disappeared into the kitchen, and the sounds of cracking ice floated out before he reappeared with a narrow glass that looked to be more ice cube than water.

Lucifer set his fiddle aside and took the water, planting a kiss on Michael's cheek. Michael muttered something under his breath, a twinkle in his eye, and whatever he said sent Gabriel into a fit of shocked giggles, and made Lucifer let out a bark of laughter. Michael smirked. Sam shook his head, figuring he didn't want to know. He leaned back against the front of the piano and watched Gabriel waggle his eyebrows at Michael before Michael patted his head (eliciting a yelp from Gabe) and walked upstairs with a shout of, "Don't run away while I'm up there!"

Sam tilted his head, when Lucifer caught his eye. He winked, turned away and whispered something to Gabriel.

"Ooh yes." And with that, they started up on the theme from Pulp Fiction. Sam heard Michael laugh somewhere from above. The music slurred into something else, something Sam didn't really recognize but that sounded familiar, and Michael reentered the room, pulling on a jacket and reaching for a tie on the arm of the couch. He was in a tuxedo.

Lucifer left Gabriel to continue playing, and swatted Michael's hand away from his throat before knotting his bow tie with a few deft movements. He straightened it, and took a step back to look over Michael's outfit. "Where's your cummerbund?" He raised an eyebrow.

Michael rolled his eyes. Lucifer raised his eyebrows higher. Michael grinned, exasperated, and moved to kneel on the floor and stick his arm under the couch.

Sam heard Lucifer mutter, "You're fucking kidding me," under his breath. "You're 23 and you hid your cummerbund under Gabriel's _couch_ because you don't like the color?"

Michael popped to his feet. "It's orange, Nick! _Orange_." He fastened the piece of offending fabric around his waist, and orange was an understatement. It glowed the shade of fluorescent tangerine used on crossing guard vests, violently distracting. Michael scowled.

Lucifer laughed at him. "Yeah, well, blame the church."

"_You_ don't have to wear one." Michael crossed his arms.

Lucifer put his hand on Michael's shoulder. "_I'm_ not going to be singing under a spotlight, pumpkin."

Michael snorted, shrugging Lucifer's hand away, and turned to search for his shoes. (They were by the sliding glass door that led to the porch.) Sam watched them mill around, while Gabriel continued to slip from song to song on his cello, swaying slightly.

"Why're you getting so dressed up?" Sam finally managed to bring up his confusion.

Lucifer and Michael glanced at him, and Lucifer said, digging through the closet, "Oh, Mike here is performing a solo with Meg at the church's talent show and there's a uniform for all the performers, due to an... incident last year." He snickered to himself, and finally pulled out a dark brown suit jacket with triumph. "I'm playing violin for them."

Michael scowled. "Meg just has to wear a black dress. Why does the church have the most obnoxiously colored cummerbunds anyway?" He dusted off his trousers. Lifted one black eyebrow. Lucifer scoffed and stepped closer to push Michael's hair back from his face more neatly. Michael leaned into his hands obligingly. Sam thought the two reminded him of his own relationship with Dean, but more openly affectionate.

Lucifer spun on his heel. "So, Sam." He clapped his hands together. "You coming, or do you want to keep Gabe company?" He tilted his head.

Sam frowned. "Gabriel's not going?" He slipped his hands into his pockets, bouncing on his toes.

Lucifer laughed, quiet. "Nah. He hates the church, and he hates the crowd."

Gabriel shouted, "Amen!" over his playing.

Sam shook his head. "I think I'll stay here. I'd feel bad leaving him and I can hear Michael sing another time."

Lucifer smiled. Michael grinned as well, and said, "You're a really nice guy, Sam, you know that?"

Sam looked down at his feet, cheeks heating up a bit. "I'm not that... thanks." He laughed.

Michael and Lucifer left.

Sam sat by Gabriel and watched him play his cello. They chatted softly back and forth, as the night progressed—discussed things like the finer points of carbon fiber instruments and the best way to hold a bow and music theory. (Turns out Gabriel had a BA in both music theory and composition, so they shared quite a few interests.) Gabriel let Sam mess around on his electric cello and Sam found it too light and insubstantial for his tastes, and didn't like the way the sound came out compared to an acoustic cello. So they traded, and Gabe plugged in his glittery gold piece of plastic while Sam used the white wood cello. They played "Hey Jude," and "In the Hall of the Mountain King" and Gabriel had to dig through his desk to find sheet music because Sam had neither memorized and lacked the skill to play by ear. (Apparently the D'Angelos, however, all possessed a ridiculously fine-tuned ability to play anything they heard almost flawlessly—except Michael. But he could sing.)

Sam had fun.

Around midnight, Lucifer returned. He'd already dropped Michael off at home, and now offered to drop Sam off at his apartment. Sam smiled. "I can take the bus, really." He laced up his boots, seated at the little step by the front door.

Lucifer clicked his tongue and bounced his car keys in his hand. "Nonsense." He stooped beside Sam, and put his mouth close to his ear and a hand on his shoulder. "I'd be perfectly happy to _take you home._"

Sam couldn't help but feel that Lucifer didn't mean Sam's apartment when he said "home." He licked his lower lips. "Alright. Take me home then." He stood and shouldered his way into his jacket.

Lucifer smirked. "Gladly."

Sam hoped he wasn't misreading the situation and also hoped that the night didn't end in tears.


	10. Diabolos

_There's a sign on the wall but she wants to be sure_  
_'Cause you know sometimes words have two meanings._  
_In a tree by the brook, there's a songbird who sings,_  
_Sometimes all of our thoughts are misgiven._

- Led Zeppelin, "Stairway to Heaven"

Sam hissed out a breath, squirming to the side. The knob digging into his spine didn't exactly feel good. Lucifer bit his neck, a quick nip, and unlocked the door, kicking it open and shoving Sam into the apartment. Sam let himself be maneuvered toward the bedroom. His fingers trembled, somewhat, tangled in Lucifer's shirt. Lucifer's hands pulled at Sam's shirt, and Sam found himself pressed up against the wall just outside of Lucifer's bedroom. Lucifer growled into his mouth.

Sam snarled back.

Lucifer walked Sam into the bedroom and toward his bed, up against the far wall, and unknotted his tie with one hand, so he could slide it off. Sam's knees bumped against the mattress, and he sat with a grunt. Lucifer pushed him onto his back, tie still in hand, and grabbed Sam's wrists in his free hand, tight. Sam kissed him.

"You okay with this?"

Sam nodded. "Beyond okay, to be honest."

Lucifer leered, and tied Sam's wrists together with his tie.

((use your imagination. ;9 ))


	11. The Father of Lies

_I'm a war, of head versus heart,_  
_And it's always this way._  
_My head is weak, my heart always speaks,_  
_Before I know what it will say._

- Death Cab for Cutie, "Crooked Teeth"

"Shit."

Sam closed his eyes, slouched on his bed with text books strewn about. He swore again. Rubbed at a sore spot on his shoulder. "I'm a fucking idiot, aren't I?" No one was there to answer but he felt fairly certain that the proper response would be a resounding "Yes." He sighed, and leaned back into his pillows, abandoning his semantics homework. The screen of his laptop glowed at him accusingly. He shut it.

"He's eighteen years older than me." Sam covered his face with both hands, so his voice came out muffled. "And I slept with him."

Why?

Sam had no idea. Lucifer terrified him. Lucifer was also very handsome. And handsy. Very rough but strangely gentle. Still terrifying. Maybe that was why. That kind of alluring danger that always seemed to draw Sam in, now that he thought of it. It'd been the same with Ruby. She had that dark glint in her eye that made Sam overheat. Lucifer had a spark in his that sent shivers up Sam's spine and down his legs and through his brain.

Sam groaned against his palms.

His cell rang. He snapped it open with bothering to open his eyes and mumbled, "Hello?"

"A little birdie told me you had some fun with your boss last night."

Sam grimaced. "Dean? What the hell, man." He sat up and opened his eyes, before sweeping his bangs out of his eyes. "How the hell d'you even know about that." Sam blinked. "I mean. Uh."

Dean laughed, and it came out tinny and too loud from the phone's speakers. Sam fell back against his pillows again with a grunt. "Shut up, jerk."

"Bitch." Dean paused. "Seriously, though. Did you... you know?"

Sam rolled his eyes. He hoped Dean could hear his annoyance. "Yeah, okay? I did." He chewed briefly on his thumbnail, but noticed and pulled his hand away from his mouth. Didn't want a frayed nail to get caught on a lower string and tear. "So what?"

"So... maybe that was a bad idea." Sam heard Dean rustling a paper bag, and the next sentence came out muffled, like Dean probably had food in his mouth. (Definitely had food in his mouth.) "I mean, he's almost old enough to be your dad, Sammy."

Sam threw his head back. "Ugh, Dean, don't remind me. It just." He ran his fingers through his hair. "It seemed like a good idea at the time and I _enjoyed_ it but... I just hope he doesn't think it was like... I dunno. A sign of more to come, you know?" He frowned, picking at the hem of his shirt.

"What, so you want it to just be a one-night stand? Who _are_ you?"

Sam snorted. "Screw you, man."

"No thank you. Ya little slut."

"Fuck off, Dean."

"Bitch."

"Jerk."

Dean laughed.

Sam snapped his cellphone shut with a grumble, tossing it onto the nightstand. He shoved at a book with his foot 'til it was out of the way and sprawled out more comfortably on his bed. He let out a long breath. Maybe he'd go to bed early, sleep on it. Figure it out in the morning. Before going to classes, and then work, where he'd face the man he spent the previous night with.

"I am so screwed."


	12. Intermission

_I was five and he was six_

_We rode on horses made of sticks_

_He wore black and I wore white_

_He would always win the fight_

_Bang bang, he shot me down_

_Bang bang, I hit the ground_

_Bang bang, that awful sound_

_Bang bang, my baby shot me down_

- Nancy Sinatra, "Bang Bang (My Baby Shot Me Down)"

"You're kidding." Gabriel raised his eyebrows, situated on Lucifer's immaculate white couch with a cosmopolitan (in a jar) pressed between his palms. The glass dripped condensation to the carpet and Lucifer felt the desperate urge to slap his little brother for dirtying the floor, though it was just water. Gabriel leaned forward so his elbows propped him, slouching, against his knees, seemingly at ease and unaware of his older sibling's frustration

Lucifer rolled his eyes. He sank into the chair across from Gabriel, and crossed his legs. "He's a handsome young man, Angelface." He grinned, predatory. "You shouldn't be surprised."

"Yeah, but, c'mon, Luci. You're what, nineteen years older than him?" Gabriel leaned back against the couch cushions and Lucifer's demeanor relaxed with relief that any drips would land on Gabe's lap rather than the carpeting. Gabriel sipped at his cosmo.

Lucifer snorted. "Eighteen years. He's a year younger than Michael. And you know age is the _last_ thing to stop me, considering... certain things." He lifted an eyebrow. Gabriel groaned and it echoed from the jar.

"Don't remind me. Speaking of Michael, though..." Gabe licked his lips. "You know he's gonna be real disappointed if he finds out." He shot his brother half a grimace, taking a gulp of his drink and avoiding the chill glare Lucifer shot his way.

Lucifer uncrossed and recrossed his legs in the other direction. Steepled his fingers under his chin. He hummed, low and thoughtful. "If you tell our dear baby brother I will personally snap both of your wrists." He smiled wide and tight and feral. His shoulders formed a rigid line with the curve of his spine.

Gabriel laughed lightly, flighty and high-pitched. False. "Right. Yeah. I'll... keep it secret, yeah?" He drained his glass and let it click audibly against the coffee table when he set it down. Then immediately picked it up and moved it to the coaster in the corner with a muttered apology. Lucifer eyed him.

An awkward silence settled, with Gabriel fidgeting on the couch and Lucifer staring at him from his seat, unblinking. Finally, Lucifer spoke up.

"Good boy."

Gabe let out a strangled laugh.


	13. Old Hob

_Now do you believe in rock and roll_  
_Can music save your mortal soul_  
_And can you teach me how to dance real slow?_

- Don McLean, "American Pie"

Sam let the bell jingle as he stepped into The Golden Fiddle. "Hello...?" The door clicked shit behind him. The low strains of Florence + the Machine blanketed the shop softly. He heard a light scrape, and Lucifer popped out of the practice room with a questioning expression.

"Oh—Sam." He smirked. "What're you doing here? It's your day off."

Sam shrugged and slipped his hands into his back pockets, chewing on his lip. "I just... figured I should maybe... Talk to you. About the other night." He grimaced. "I don't usually do that kinda stuff, you know?" He frowned.

Lucifer barked out a loud laugh and Sam winced. "I can't tell if you're trying to ask me out or let me down gently." He raised his eyebrows high, and planted a hand on his hip, leaning against the doorway to the back room. "Clarify, Sam."

Sam hesitated. Then, "I just hope you don't expect it to happen again—I like you, and you're attractive but I'm not... looking for a relationship." He rubbed a hand over his face. He felt much too warm in the little violin store.

Lucifer looked at him for a few seconds, looking vaguely amused and thoughtful. "Well," He smiled. That had to be a good sign. "Thanks for telling me, but don't worry." He sauntered close, brushed past Sam and adjusted the _Open_ sign on the door before heading to the counter. "It was just a little fun for me, as well." He winked. "Though I wouldn't mind if it happened again."

"No-strings sex, huh?" Sam hunched his shoulders. He blushed further. "We'll see." He pushed his bangs back from his face with a little simper, and said, "Anyway, I better go. Gotta be at class in like twenty minutes." He ducked out of the shop with barely a backwards glance.

The door thudded shut loudly, and Lucifer watched the younger man retreat across the street toward the bus stop. He knew there was no class in twenty minutes. He rolled his eyes.

"What a foolish boy."


	14. Antichrist

_There was a boy_  
_A very strange, enchanted boy_  
_They say he wandered very far_  
_Very far, over land and sea_  
_A little shy and sad of eye_  
_But very wise was he_

- Nat King Cole, "Nature Boy"

Sam watched Lucifer and Michael, curious. They were dancing—Lucifer was helping Michael practice, rather. Some complicated tango steps the younger man hadn't got down yet, for the local theater's production of _Moulin Rouge!_. (He was set to play the narcoleptic Argentinian.) Lucifer's extra two inches of height allowed them to fit together fairly easily, though he danced the follow, and Michael the lead. But they mirrored each other well.

Lucifer had a knack for the scraping back step of the follow. He danced much like he played violin—with a harsh grace. His technique neared flawlessness, but underneath the crisp, neat form of his movements lay something harsher and more wild. A caged animal... He reminded Sam of a leopard.

Beside Sam, Gabriel shifted, a book in his lap. He hadn't touched his instruments even though he could easily have rendered a perfect version of "El Tango de Roxanne" on any number of them, and he kept fidgeting. He rubbed at his hands and wrists and gnawed on a peanut butter Twix, turning the page stiffly, every minute like clockwork. Sam frowned.

"Gabriel...?" He kept his voice low, and leaned close. "Are you alright?"

Gabriel flinched, blinked rapidly and looked up from his book. (Something by Kurt Vonnegut, judging by the headers on the even numbered pages.) His eyes widened. "Oh! Sorry. What?" He smiled.

Sam grinned. "You okay?"

"Oh, yeah. Fine. Just tired." Gabe shut his book (and yes, it was_ Armageddon in Retrospect_) and cocked his head like a puppy. He bit another chunk from his candy bar. Sam nodded. Gabriel rubbed at his knuckles before jerking his head in the direction of the hallway. "You wanna talk?"

Sam blinked. "Uh... Sure." He followed Gabe into his bedroom.

They settled on the bed, and the chair, respectively. Sam felt that sitting in the armchair would be a little less awkward than attempting to sit comfortably on a mattress. Gabriel, on the other hand, seemed to think that sprawling across his bed was the best way to recline. He smirked at Sam. "So. You and Luci." He crossed his arms, and shushed Sam before he could protest, holding up one finger. "You did the horizontal mambo and now, what? Things are awkward?" He pushed himself more upright, propping himself against a particularly fluffy pillow.

Sam shrugged. "A little. But for the most part we've been acting the same." He picked at the hem of his sweatshirt. Gabriel chuckled.

"Right."

Sam's mouth twisted. "What? It's practically the same." He leaned forward in his chair with the beginnings of a frown. "Right?"

Gabe nodded. He rolled onto his side, and propped his chin in one hand, leaning on his elbow. He leveled his eyes—they glinted particularly yellowish in the light through the window—on Sam, growing serious. "Kiddo, just keep something in mind for me, okay?"

"...Okay?" Sam twitched out half a smile.

Gabriel grinned but it seemed off. "Don't you ever, _ever_ make him mad."

"Look, dude, you don't have to give me some 'if you hurt my brother I'll kill you' speech, okay?" Sam rolled his eyes. "I'm not an idiot, and he's a grown man." He spread his hands palm out, beseeching or placating, he didn't really know.

Gabriel scowled. "No. If you hurt my brother, he will crucify you. Then kill you with his bare hands and eat your insides in a sandwich." He collapsed onto his stomach with a huff. His next words came out muffled but understandable. "Seriously. Be careful, Sam, and whatever you do... Don't piss him off?" He kicked his legs up into the air. "He seems nice, but... Everyone's got secrets."

Sam settled back into the chair, with a tiny frown. His hands settled on his knees. "...Alright." He gave Gabriel a smile, to show he meant what he said. "I'll be careful."

Gabriel turned his head enough to expose his face to Sam, and beamed at him. Sam couldn't help but grin back.

They settled into a calm conversation deciding who was hotter—Scarlett Johansson, Jake Gyllenhaal, or Robert Downey Jr. Just as they decided that Jake and Scarlett tied for pretty, but Robert won in terms of handsome good looks, the door creaked open. Michael waved his hand at them with a smile and said, "Lucifer and I are going upstairs to look for some stuff, so holler if you need us." He nodded at Sam, and left again, letting the door shut quietly behind him.

"Ooooh." Gabriel wiggled his eyebrows, making Sam snort. "Goin' upstairs to 'look for some stuff'? _Likely story._ Eh, Sammich?" He smirked into his pillow.

Sam gaped at him. "Gabriel! Those are both your brothers!" He tried not to grin, but he lost his fight and smiled into his hand.

"Oh, right." Gabriel stretched, like a cat, and sat up on his knees. "It's a reflex." He winked. Rolled his shoulders until they made a cracking sound.

Sam scoffed.


	15. Mephistopheles

_So excuse me forgetting, but these things I do _

_You see I've forgotten if they're green or they're blue _

_Anyway the thing is what I really mean _

_Yours are the sweetest eyes I've ever seen_

- Elton John, "Your Song"

"Wait—_Meg_ is playing the main guy?" Dean's mouth hung open unflatteringly. Castiel, at his elbow, nudged him and muttered something. Dean snapped his mouth shut with a snort.

"Yeah, Dean. Just like the last three times I told you." Sam crossed his arms.

Dean rolled his eyes, finally settling onto Sam's threadbare couch. He pulled Cas down to sit beside him, and Cas squinted at him but obliged, with that _I just don't understand you_ expression emblazoned across his face. Sam grinned at how Castiel invaded Dean's personal space. Dean didn't seem to notice. "Whatever, man. I think it's weird that a chick is playing the dude part."

Sam kicked Dean before sitting down on his other side. "Shut up." He fished underneath a cushion for the remote control. "Her voice is perfect for the role, and she acts really well with Charlie." He found his remote, and held it up triumphantly before switching the TV on.

"Wait, wait, don't tell me the chick part is played by a _dude,_ too." Dean grimaced. "That's just messed up."

Sam grinned. "Actually, Charlie is a girl."_ A very cute one_, he neglected to mention.

Dean's entire demeanor changed. "Oh really?" He raised his eyebrows with a lascivious smile. Cas glowered and slapped his elbow. Sam barely made out his grumbled, _Don't be disrespectful toward women, Dean Winchester_. Dean shrugged, pulling a face and blushing. Sam smirked. Cas always was one to chide Dean well.

"Anyway." Sam elbowed Dean in the ribs. "Yeah, the leads are both played by women. Michael is one of the side characters, and I think Cas is in it. Right, Cas?" He turned down the volume on _Cake Boss_.

Castiel gave Sam a solemn nod from where he sat. Dean perked up, and tilted his head with a curious glint in his eye. Cas let himself smile the tiniest bit, and said, "Indeed. I play the Duke." He shrugged out of his overcoat, and like always, seemed to grow so much smaller without it—in just his dress shirt and crooked tie and neatly pressed (but barely too short) slacks.

"Ain't that the bad guy?" Dean took Castiel's coat and tossed it onto the coffee table. Cas rolled his eyes.

"Yes, Dean. I'm the bad guy."

Dean smirked. "Cool. Maybe I'll go see it, since you guys'll both be there."

"Yeah?" Sam quirked an eyebrow. "You gonna give me a ride, then?"

"Hell no, Samantha. You can _walk_."

Sam scowled. "Gonna make one of the lead cellists late to the show 'cause you won't give me a ride? Jerk." He pinched Dean's arm.

"Bitch." Dean shoved him.

Castiel let out a world-weary sigh and ignored their bickering.

The performance was just a few days later.

Sam sat in the back of Lucifer's car, with Gabriel huddled up against the opposite window, watching his breath fog on the glass and drawing smiley faces with haloes. Michael was inside gathering last minute things, and Lucifer stood by the hood of the car with an unlit cigarette clamped between his teeth. He never actually smoked, but sometimes liked the feel of an old, unhealthy habit. Sam turned to face Gabe. "Hey." He shook Gabriel's shoulder. Gabriel looked up at him, with wide and glassy eyes. Sam smiled, attempting to encourage him. "It'll be fine. You'll be in the orchestra pit, anyway. No strangers to deal with." He nudged him with an elbow.

Gabriel huffed out a little laugh. He had his tiny costume wings strapped to his back, and Sam tugged at the edge of one.

"You like angels a lot, don't you?" Sam raised his eyebrows. He tried not to seem insincere, or mocking. His question was genuine, and he hoped Gabriel could see that. Turning on the curious puppy gaze couldn't hurt, though.

Gabe's smile softened, as he looked down at his knees, and he folded his hands in his lap. "It's just nice..." He shrugged. "It's comforting to think something might be watchin' over you, even if you know you're all alone." He licked his lips and looked out the windshield—flecks of snow dotted the glass. "So angels are kinda like a soothing thing, for me."

"So you hang them all over your house and cover yourself in wings and draw them on windows." Sam grinned.

Gabriel all but giggled, as he was prone to do, and reached his hands up to brush his fingers along the ceiling of the car. "Yeah, well." He smirked at Sam. "Everyone wants to fly away sometimes."

"Yeah..." Sam fell silent.

Michael ran out from the house, shouting apologies before throwing himself into the passenger seat. Lucifer's smooth laughter could be heard through the rolled up windows. He spit his still unlit cigarette onto the damp ground, and opened his door and slid into the driver's seat smoothly, starting the car and turning up the radio's volume so that classic rock crackled from the speakers. He straightened his bow tie. "Who's ready to go put on a goddamn musical?!"

Gabriel whooped, and they laughed as Lucifer peeled out of the driveway.

Cars packed the theater's alleyway as well as any spaces in front of the building and down the entire street. A line trailed from the doors down the sidewalk—considering not even the musicians had all gotten there yet, they certainly weren't quite ready to let in guests. Lucifer cursed and circled the block before heading back down one of the streets and parking in a fairly abandoned Burger King parking lot. They'd have to walk the few blocks to the theater, then, instruments in their arms. (Sam thanked the Heavens he'd decided _against_ upright bass when he was young.)

By the time all four were inside, after shoving past flocks of customers—and where had this turnout come from?—Crowley was barking for his missing musicians. (The play was cast entirely of local students, actors, and artists, and the music would be performed by the college's symphony orchestra—with a few added members of the public.) He spotted Lucifer's little crew and waved his hands wildly, a sour expression on his face.

Sam led the way. They settled into the orchestra pit amongst the other musicians. People began to filter into the theater. Stage hands disappeared behind the curtains. Gabriel's wings bounced. Abaddon rosined her bow without a sound. They tuned.

At 8:30, the curtains rose.

Meg barely needed the microphone pinned to her tuxedo jacket. Charlie sorely needed hers. But they worked well together.

Castiel, from what Sam could hear, made the most terrifying Duke. Michael, a perfect narcoleptic.

And so on, and so on.

Lucifer took on the violin solo for "El Tango de Roxanne," and half of the orchestra forgot to breathe.

That, combined with the impressive tango scene between Michael and—of all people—Jo, left the entire theater in a tense hush, with the sound of scraping heels and rasping strings filling the room.

All in all, they did well and when the curtains closed the sound of the audience verged on deafening. Sam laid his cello to the side and relaxed into his seat with a sigh. He watched the others mill around, chattering underneath the applause. He nudged Gabriel with his knee and Gabriel focused on him intently—it disconcerted him a little, if he were honest. "Where's Lucifer?"

Gabriel raised an eyebrow. He smirked. "You miss him?"

Sam rolled his eyes. "He _did_ give us both a ride here." He pursed his lips.

Gabriel laughed, clearly at ease and in a good mood.

"Probably congratulating Michael on a job well done." Gabe loosened his bow before setting it across his lap. "I swear to God, he's more proud of him than our father." He grinned.

Sam smiled. "They do seem close."

That made Gabriel snort. "Yeah."

Just a few minutes later Lucifer called their names, Michael in tow looking flushed and pleased with himself. (And no 23 year old should have the right to look so adorably excited.) They waved, and Sam and Gabriel packed up their instruments while Lucifer retrieved his own, and in no time at all they left the theater and walked back to the car. Sam and Gabriel lingered in the frosty air, after shoving their cellos in the trunk.

"You did really well, Gabe." Sam stuck his thumbs in his slacks' pockets with a wide smile.

Gabriel rolled his eyes. "Shut up, you brownnoser." But he looked happy.

Lucifer honked.

Sam laughed and they got into the car.

Lucifer raised his eyebrows at them in the rearview mirror.

Sam grinned.


	16. The Dark Lord

_I couldn't love a man so purely _

_Even prophets forgave his crooked way _

_I've learned love is like a brick you can _

_Build a house or sink a dead body_

- Lady Gaga, "Judas"

Sam slid his textbook onto the shelf nearest the floor, with the other books he no longer needed. Fall quarter had officially ended. He stretched with a happy hum and padded over to his bed, intent on getting in and not moving for the next ten hours at least. He managed to slip under the covers before his cell buzzed. He snapped it open to read the text.

From: [unknown]

_It's Lucifer. I got your number from Michael, just thought I'd say hi and let you have my number._

Sam chuckled under his breath. Lucifer's perfect grammar via text amused him. It was just like how Michael texted, too. Though Sam imagined he and Lucifer wouldn't be shooting messages back and forth about the feminist messages behind Nicki Minaj's music.

_Cool. Tell everyone i say hi so they know i'm not dead when they don't hear from me for the next 24 hrs_

His phone vibrated again almost immediately: _Are you alright?_

Sam laughed._ I'm fine. Promise. Gonna sleep forever now that finals are done tho_. He waited for Lucifer's_ Okay_ before setting his cell phone on the side table and burying his face in the pillows. He lay still for about five minutes before slithering out of his jeans—moving as little as possible and deciding that briefs and a t-shirt made perfectly suitable pajamas. Even if he'd been wearing the shirt for like twelve hours straight at _least_. He let out a gusty sigh.

Despite his exhaustion, sleep avoided him—it chose, instead, to hover at the edges of his eyes so that he couldn't keep them open for more than a few seconds at a time, and gave him a headache and made him restless but unable to move, and finally he sat up with a groan. He'd need to wait. Clearly 8 pm was too early to sleep, though that was all Sam wanted to do. He rummaged around in his school bag and pulled out his laptop, and set it on the sheets in front of his knees, tucking his feet beneath him. He powered up the computer, but kept the bedroom light off. Figured the dim light and heat from the laptop might help lull him to sleep.

It did.

Less than twenty minutes later he lay slumped against his pillows with his computer open on his lap, the soft sound of Noah Gunderson's "Fire" trickling tinny from the speakers. A bar of light from a streetlamp cut through the window and lay across his eyes but didn't disturb him. His hands lay on the keyboard.

He woke in the middle of the night to use the bathroom, barely conscious, and managed to brush his teeth and shut off his computer before he slid back into his bed and passed out once more.

In the morning, near noon, sunlight streamed in and dragged him awake with the sound of a ringing doorbell to accompany it. Sam whined in confusion, not fully aware of his surroundings yet. He blinked his eyes open and stumbled out of bed, and grabbed a pair of flannel pajama pants on his way to the living room, the bell continuing to buzz insistent and loud. "'M comin'!" The bell stopped. He almost tripped getting into his pants, and opened the apartment's front door with a glare and a muffled, "The shit d'you want?"

Gabriel beamed up at him, bundled into a thick pink coat and yellow mittens and a candy striped hat with a pom-pom on top. He held out a casserole dish and said, too loudly, "Mornin', Sammich!" Sam squinted at him for a few seconds, and finally rolled his eyes and stepped back from the door. Gabriel snickered at his exasperation and rushed in, exhaling loudly, cheeks and nose a bright red. "'S nice and warm in here!" He laughed.

Sam snorted. "Yeah. Got these things called baseboard heaters." He rubbed lingering goosebumps from his arms and tilted his head, flipping his bangs out of his eyes. "What have you got, there?" He gestured toward the casserole dish.

Gabe lit up and hurried toward Sam's miniscule kitchen. "French toast casserole!" He thunked it down on the counter and finally stripped out of his jacket and hat, and pocketed his gloves. "Still hot!" He pulled at Sam's hand to press it against the glass lid, and yes, it radiated a soft heat. Sam rolled his eyes and pulled away enough so that Gabriel could pull the lid away—droplets of condensation hit the edge of the sink—and closed his eyes when the smell of cinnamon and eggs engulfed the tiny room in a waft of steam. He grinned.

"Smells good."

Gabriel smirked. "Tastes better." He nudged Sam with his hip. "Get me some plates, Bullwinkle, and we can eat it." He winked. Sam snorted and rummaged around in the cupboard to unearth two relatively un-chipped plates and two mismatched forks. He held them out for Gabe, and Gabe used one of the forks to scoop chunks of the breakfast casserole onto the plates. The entire process seemed so calm and weirdly domestic that Sam couldn't help but laugh. Gabriel raised an eyebrow at him.

Sam shook his head. "You're gonna be a great housewife, someday."

Gabriel blinked at him, and his face twisted into a wide grin. "Fuck you." He rapped Sam's knuckles with a fork, and took his own plate from the other man before twisting his way around him and into the living room. He headed straight for the couch, and plopped down while he took a big bite. Sam laughed and followed him. They sat amiably side by side, with a rerun of Bill Nye on mute in the background while they made light conversation, but mostly focused on eating an entire French toast casserole. Sam certainly made a valiant effort—he demolished over half of it within a half hour. Gabe teased him, and Sam rolled his eyes.

Eventually, the food was gone, and Bob Ross droned soothingly from the TV. Sam fell back against the arm of the chair and slung his legs across Gabe's lap with a smirk. The plates sat stacked on the coffee table. "Why'd you bring me breakfast, anyway?" He poked Gabriel's arm with a socked toe. Gabriel smiled.

"Luci told me you were done with finals and needed rest, and I figured a big boy like you should get some calories!" He laughed and slapped Sam's shin lightly. "'Specially after the stress of finals." He winked. "Besides, who doesn't wanna see a strapping young man in his PJs on a snowy Saturday morning?"

Sam snorted. "Well, thanks." He tilted his head back and closed his eyes. "Saved me the trouble."

Gabriel pushed at his legs, with a little laugh. "Get offa me." Sam dug his heels into the cushions and refused to budge. Gabriel scowled and huffed but then he grinned, and drew his finger down the arch of Sam's foot. Sam jerked his legs away and Gabe shoved at him before standing. "Gotcha!" He planted his hands on his hips. "Who knew you'd be ticklish!"

Sam pouted. (Would never admit it, though.) "Shuddup." He sat up, crossing his arms with a grin. The fabric pulled tight around his shoulders and he grimaced briefly—time to buy some new shirts. He pulled his knees up and leaned his arms against them and said, "You gonna go already, or do you wanna stay and watch a movie or something?" He raised his eyebrows. "Unless you're busy, of course."

"Why, Sammy, are you flirting with me!?" Gabriel covered his mouth with his hand and tittered.

Sam spluttered. "What—no!" His face went red, across his nose and forehead and high on his cheeks. "I'm just asking you to hang out!" He rubbed the back of his neck.

Gabriel laughed, loud and happy and too big for such a small apartment. "I'm just yankin' your chain, kiddo!" He waggled his eyebrows and threw himself back down beside Sam, and leaned on his legs. "Awww you're blushing." He grinned and propped his cheek on a fisted hand. "Cute."

Sam rolled his eyes. He kicked Gabe lightly in the side and turned to plant his feet on the ground and face the TV, grabbing the remote and turning the volume up just slightly. "You're a jerk." He flicked to the TV Guide. "Whaddya wanna watch?"

Gabriel paid close attention to the titles scrolling down the screen. Something caught his eyes eventually and his smile widened. "_Willy Wonka & the Chocolate Factory._ I love Gene Wilder."

Sam chuckled and obliged.

They spent the afternoon together watching television, and when Gabe left, Sam checked his phone. A text from Lucifer asking if Gabe was over and if Sam had gotten enough sleep.

_He just left and yeah I'm a lot less tired now_

Sam left his phone on the side table and went to take a shower—a little too hot and just steamy enough to obscure the mirror.

When he finished he had another message—_I see. I'm glad you got some sleep. I'll talk to you later._

Sam shot back an _Okay_. He yawned, and figured a nap before dinner was in order.

((It's two am so there may be some errors and a fuckload of passive voice.))


	17. The Beast

_It's a luscious mix of words and tricks _  
_That let us bet when you know we should fold_  
_On rocks I dreamt of where we'd stepped_  
_And the whole mess of roads we're now on._

- The Shins, "Caring is Creepy"

Sam swore, and he and Michael grappled with the bass between them, trying to fit it in the back of Gabriel's tiny car. Sam grunted. "This isn't gonna work." Michael grimaced. He nodded. He rushed into the house. A few seconds later he popped back out with Gabe on his heel looking panicked and undone. Sam shouted, "You need to get a bigger car!"

Gabriel ran his hands back through his hair and winced. "Fuck." He pressed his palms into the cold metal of the hood of his car and frowned. His eyebrows pushed together. "Fuck. Where's Nick?"

Sam swore. Heading towards "Nicholas" instead of "Luci." Bad news. He gave a final shove of the instrument's case and stepped back from the door and threw his hands up. "I'll text him." He shot Gabriel a placating smile—tried to; it ended up tighter than usual. Tapped out a quick _Where ARE you?!_ And leaned against the side of the Nova. His phone kept silent for five minutes and finally a one word answer:

Here.

Sam interrupted Gabe's frantic pacing to show him, and Gabe blinked and whirled as headlights drowned out the drive. Lucifer practically rolled out of his SUV and ran to Gabriel.

"Nicholas! You're late we're going to be _late_!"

Lucifer paused, and grabbed Gabriel. He nodded at Sam and Michael, and they tugged the bass away toward Lucifer's car. Lucifer gripped Gabriel's arms tight enough to bruise and said, "Calm down, Angel. Calm. Think of the lake. Okay? The lake." He pulled Gabe around in a slow circling set up steps, and walked him backwards toward his car. "Pretty pink wings and ripples in the water, honey." He smiled, and his face softened.

Gabriel wilted against him, and allowed himself to be manhandled into the back seat.

Michael, behind the car, let out an explosive "FUCK!" Sam cursed, as well. Lucifer's jaw clenched and he shut the door with a bang before running around to them.

Sam slammed the trunk shut and Michael bundled a bow into his arms. Snapped in half. Sam groaned. Michael closed his eyes. "Sorry."

Lucifer kicked the tire. He ground his teeth. Finally caught Michael's eye. "We'll use a spare." Michael visibly relaxed. Lucifer continued. "But we're gonna have a little talk. But we have to go _now_."

They clambered into the car with Lucifer at the wheel as always and Michael in the passenger seat, slumped guiltily against the window. In the back, Sam put one hand on Gabriel's knee and slipped the other around his waist—careful not to muss up his tuxedo—and made to comfort him the way Lucifer showed him how: Soft touches, quiet words, repetition and pet names. Gabriel sighed into him and Sam smiled. Lucifer caught Sam's eye in the mirror and nodded, steely glint in his eye and approving smile on his mouth. Sam smiled back.

They made it to the concert hall with no other incidents, despite Lucifer speeding through several stop signs, and Lucifer left them in the car to run the bass inside where Abaddon waited for it. (The only reason she hadn't brought it herself, which would have been preferable, was that Gabriel had borrowed it.) Sam encouraged Gabe out of the car, and helped him pull his cello from the back. They left Michael in the car—though he eventually slipped out and followed them without a word—and soon Gabe sat in his seat on stage, and Sam sat beside Michael in the audience, and Lucifer stood facing the conductor with his violin in hand. It looked strange to see a spare bow between his fingers, and Sam wondered why on earth Lucifer had left a several thousand dollar bow laying around in his trunk—it really couldn't be Michael's fault. That kind of thing shouldn't be left out. He shook his head, and focused on the little chamber orchestra.

Crowley, as always, conducted, in charge of not only the university's symphony orchestra, but also the public band and orchestra, and the chamber orchestra of close friends: Lucifer, Gabriel, Abaddon, Meg (considering she was his daughter), Uriel, Lilith and Alastair and scattered others.

Raphael dropped into the seat beside Sam with a smile and a whispered greeting. Sam grinned at him to say hello.

They watched and listened, and the applause after made Sam flinch. Well-deserved applause though—they played amazingly well and Sam had never heard such a seamless and slightly terrifying rendition of "Danse Macabre." Not to mention the other songs—a cover of "Blue Christmas" with Meg singing rather than playing her violin, and a set of Romanian folk dances.

Sam smiled, because they all moved perfectly together, and Gabriel had transitioned from stiff and nervous to fluid and beaming the second his fingers found the strings.

Altogether impressive.

They left in much less of a hurry, this time without a giant upright bass crowding up the trunk and part of the back seat. Lucifer looked pleased, and Michael relaxed against his seat. Gabriel fell asleep when they got stuck in traffic and Sam hummed with the radio.

When they pulled into Gabriel's driveway Sam tried to shake him awake—careful not to startle him. Gabriel grumbled under his breath and swatted at Sam's hand. Sam laughed. Gabe squinted at him, bleary and probably not completely aware of himself.

Lucifer glanced at them in the rearview mirror. "Sam, would you mind making sure he gets to bed safely? I can come back after I drop off Michael, if you need me to." He frowned. "I just don't want to leave Gabe here considering he's barely conscious." He left the car running, but put it in park just so they wouldn't drift toward the garage door. He gave Sam an apologetic look.

Sam smiled at him. "It's fine. I don't even need a ride—I can just get the bus." He raised his eyebrows emphatically. "I'll make sure he's okay." He jostled Gabriel again and patted his back.

"C'mon, Gabriel. We gotta get you in bed."

Lucifer laughed when Gabe let out a garbled, "Nnnooo" and a huff.

Sam rolled his eyes, scooted closer to reach around and open the door, then shoved Gabe almost out of the car, scooping him up before he fell. "Looks like Princess Gabriel is too much of a grumpy jerk to walk on his own." He shut the door with his foot and Lucifer popped the trunk for him so he could pull out Gabriel's cello and attempt to drag it to the front of the house while also carrying Gabriel as best he could with one arm. Gabriel's other hand snaked up to loop around his neck and he buried his face in Sam's shoulder with a pathetically sleepy noise. Sam grumbled and patted through Gabe's pockets until he found the keys and practically broke down the front door. He heard Lucifer laugh from the car and flipped him off as the sound of gravel under tires grew louder.

The headlights swept across the front of the house, and Sam waved as Lucifer pulled out of the drive. Lucifer shot him a peace sign. Sam hauled his load of tired musician and cello inside. He left the instrument by the door and made his way to the living room where he dumped Gabriel onto the couch and said, "Wait here."

Gabriel, of course, didn't reply.

Sam dug through Gabe's closet until he found something that looked like pajamas. He went back into the living room and threw them at Gabriel's head. "Wake up and get changed!"

Gabe sat up with a confused shout of, "Where am I?!"

Sam snorted. "Home." He dropped onto the couch and slung his arms across the back cushions. "Lucifer left to take Michael home, and I'm here to make sure you get to bed without dying on the piano or something stupid." He rubbed his mouth.

Gabriel stared at him from underneath his Batman t-shirt, almost as if he couldn't remember how to understand English. Finally, he grabbed the clothes off of his head and trudged toward his room, grumbling under his breath the whole way. Sam rolled his eyes. He heard the sink go, and the sound of Gabriel brushing his teeth. Eventually Gabriel emerged into the living room. "How're you getting home?"

"Bus." Sam shrugged.

Gabriel glared at him. "The last bus was an hour ago, Sam. It's Sunday." He tilted his head. "Well, Monday morning."

Sam groaned. He leaned his head back against the couch and rubbed his forehead. "Shit. You're right."

Gabriel snorted. "I can't drive in the dark." He pointed at Sam, as if accusing him of asking for a ride. "You can stay in the guest room." He disappeared back down the hallway and his bedroom door shut with a loud click.

Sam raised an eyebrow. "Someone's grumpy." He made his way to the back of the house and up the stairs, where the guest bedroom was situated. He made sure to turn off all the lights on the way. He looked out the bare window, at little flakes of snow attempting to stick to the ground, and stripped down to his underwear before slipping into bed. Thankfully there were a lot of blankets so he needn't worry about getting cold.

From downstairs, Gabriel yelled, "Goodnight!"

Sam laughed. "Goodnight, Gabe!"

He wondered, briefly, when the buses would start running in the morning, before dropping off to sleep.


	18. Intermission II

_So make all your fat fleshy fingers to moving,_  
_And pluck all your silly strings, bend all your notes for me._  
_Soft silly music is meaningful magical,_  
_The movements were beautiful, all in your ovaries._  
_All of them milking with green fleshy flowers,_  
_While powerful pistons were sugary sweet machines._  
_Smelling of semen all under the garden_  
_Was all you were needing when you still believed in me._

- Neutral Milk Hotel, "Oh Comely"

Lucifer's grimace reeked of a skull—wide threatening grin with sharp open eyes and gleaming teeth. Stark display of anger but not a hand raised to strike. Not yet. His voice growled out low like a the purr of a fast car. "I am... disappointed. In you." He raised his eyebrows and his forehead creased in that concerned way it only did when he was mad. He looked beyond let down, beyond disappointed, all this quiet honey-smooth woundedness like some malicious animal faking injury to lure its prey closer.

"Sorry, sorry, sorry." Michael whispered faint in his oldest brother's ear, weaving ever close 'til his nose brushed Lucifer's cheek and Lucifer's hand settled on his hip. He melted against Lucifer like a piece of copper deteriorating under fire and kept murmuring apologies because that's what he was meant to do.

Lucifer hushed him softly, cupping a hand against his jaw, and smoothed his palm over Michael's face. "Disappointed, yes. Angry, yes." He let out a breath against Michael's cheek. Dragged a kiss there. "But you know I never stay mad."

Michael hissed, "I know, I know, I know."

Lucifer held Michael steady, fingers dug in at the fabric over his hips, and Michael leaned on him like life with his eyes closed and his lips parted under Lucifer's ear.

They stood together, all joined seamless from ankle to knee to thigh and hip to shoulder and cheek.

Stood together.

The little tendrils of cool anger dissipated, until Lucifer smiled and brushed his mouth down Michael's neck and said, "You'll be a good boy, then?"

And Michael said, "Of course, of course, of course."


	19. Woland

_With cocoa leaves along the border_  
_Sweetness sings from every corner_  
_Cars careening from the clouds_  
_The bridges burst and twist around_

- Neutral Milk Hotel, "Communist Daughter"

"Did he _hit_ you?"

Michael looked up from his seat behind the counter, raising an eyebrow. "Wha—Oh!" His eyes widened. "No, no! I mean, I wouldn't have blame him—that bow is worth like $8000 but no. He'd never hit me." He smiled at Sam. "I actually hit myself in the face with that damn cello in the corner." He snorted.

Sam looked, and there was an unfinished cello leaned on the wall with a slight stain of red on the edge of the scroll. He laughed. "Really? You're clumsier than _me_." He grabbed the cello and pulled it into the other room. "Anyway, why are you here? Don't you have like... a job?" He leaned out the door.

Michael grinned. "I do. But I have today off and I figured I'd help out around the shop." He shrugged. "You know, to apologize."

Sam nodded. "Alright then." He pulled on an apron and set to work cleaning. Today was the day to dust down every surface in the shop, mop the floors, clean any instruments and cases that needed it—including the one Michael had hit himself in the face with—and wash the windows. Sam liked cleaning days. He sang along with whatever played over the speakers (Ludo, that day) and let himself be wholly distracted by the routine of simple work.

Michael watched him with amusement, and doodled on a pad of paper by the cash register. He dealt with a mother looking for replacement strings, then a couple of teenagers who wanted to know what kind of instruments Apocalyptica used. He smiled widely at them and was so charming and engaged Sam wondered if he might work in some kind of customer service industry.

Lucifer came downstairs while Michael explained the difference between a viola and a violin to a middle-aged father and his daughter. He grinned and waved at Michael on his way to dig out some unfinished projects, then stopped and frowned and looked at Michael again.

"What happened to your eye, Mike?" He crossed his arms.

Michael trailed off mid-sentence. "Oh—I just hit myself with one of the cellos." He blushed and grinned and shrugged, at both Lucifer and the man. "No big deal." The man laughed lightly, and took his daughter by the hand to look at a pretty array of violins near where Sam dusted. Sam nodded at them.

Lucifer took Michael's face in his hands, clicking his tongue. He turned his brother's face so the light caught it better and pouted in concern. "Brother, you're bleeding." He released Michael. "Go upstairs and clean it."

Michael rolled his eyes but he nodded and went off to tend to his wound.

"Where's the cello?"

Sam pointed.

Lucifer went into the room and turned the instrument in his hands and let out a low whistle. "Got him pretty good." He hauled the cello into his arms and carried it out front, to lay it on his work desk. He rummaged through his things and laid out an array of bottles and tools and other materials, and set to work cleaning the scroll and re-sanding certain spots on the body and neck.

The father and daughter left with a promise to be back later. Lucifer saluted them on their way out.

Sam hummed and dropped to his knees to wipe dust from the shelves showcasing a few older, more decorative instruments. He could hear Lucifer singing along.

Eventually Michael drifted back out and settled behind the register with a few band-aids across his cheek. He murmured something to Lucifer and Lucifer nodded. Sam began to sweep the floor. The back-and-forth scraping motions lulled him into a sort of daze and he half-closed his eyes while he hummed and swept and swayed a little with the broom. Michael laughed at him and he smiled.

The day passed by slow and lazy for the most part, and when Sam had finished cleaning the shop was spotless. Every once in a while a person or two popped in and out, usually looking to get a Christmas gift for some musically inclined loved one, but for the most part the bitter weather prevented many people from even being outside. They ended up sitting together behind the counter, Lucifer at the workbench, Michael on his stool and Sam backwards on a chair, chatting about whatever came up.

Sam liked it.

Michael left around 4 pm, needing to get back home and feed his fish and start dinner. Apparently he had some friends coming over later for a sort of potluck. Sam helped Lucifer close up early a couple of hours later. In the dim light, with a slight glow of snow and streetlamps through the windows, Lucifer checked the cash register and put away each tool carefully while Sam made sure he'd locked all of the cabinets and that all the instruments were secure on shelves or hooks or in cases.

Lucifer came close, and laid his hand on Sam's arm. "You should stay for dinner, Sam." He smiled.

Sam tapped his chin, and grinned. "Why not. Free food is good food, as they say." He locked the shop door and flipped the sign before following Lucifer upstairs to his apartment. He sat at the kitchen table and watched Lucifer make his way through a recipe for Devil's food cake while he preheated the oven and chopped vegetables. Sam offered to help but got waved off.

"No one cooks in my kitchen but me." Lucifer winked. "Sit your ass down and enjoy the show."

Sam laughed and did as told.

Stir fry and cake made for a strange but delicious meal.

Sam insisted on at least helping with the dishes, so they stood side by side at the sink and Sam scrubbed the plates and passed them off to Lucifer, who rinsed them and set them in the drying rack. They finished fairly quickly, because there weren't many dirty dishes in the first place. Lucifer nudged Sam with his hip and said, "C'mere."

Sam turned to Lucifer, and Lucifer snaked a still-damp hair into his hair, pushing his bangs out of his eyes with a smirk. "You're getting shaggy." He raised his eyebrows.

Sam shrugged. "I like it shaggy."

Lucifer rolled his eyes. He tugged on Sam's hair until Sam tilted his face up a little, and bit the edge of his jaw. "Obviously." He tangled his other hand in Sam's hair and pulled him forward to kiss him, mouthing, "I like it too."

Sam pulled a somewhat startled breath in through his nose. He sort of sighed against Lucifer's lips. One hand drifted down to the edge of the counter and the other settled on Lucifer's hip and he leaned a little bit into him and kissed back. "Bad idea." He ran his fingers up Lucifer's side. Lucifer grinned. He pulled back a few centimeters.

He winked.

"My life is built on bad ideas."


	20. The Stranger

_When I got my trophy back _

_It took some time _

_To polish it to gold from black_

_And shoot the lion_

- Bat for Lashes, "Trophy"

Sam looked up from his copy of _Abarat_. "You want me to come to your Christmas party?" He set his book on the counter. Gabriel hovered beside the door with his hands shoved into his pockets and his eyes focused on the wall just behind Sam's shoulder. Sam smiled. "Of course I'll go."

Gabe looked up fast, and beamed. "Yeah?" He shrugged like resettling wings, though he wore none today—it was clear, however, that he wished they were strapped onto his back. He fidgeted and shook his hair out of his eyes. "Cool." He wrung his hat in his hands. "I gotta... go." He pulled a face.

"Wait—Gabriel, wait." Sam stood and came out from behind the front desk. He held his hands out and moved slowly. "You gotta tell me when it is." He raised his eyebrows but made sure his expression was soft. Gabriel's eyes widened briefly and he slapped a palm to his forehead.

"Silly me!" He sighed and dug around in his jacket pocket before pulling out a small envelope and pressing it into Sam's hands. He grinned and patted Sam's arm, stiff and uncomfortable but cheerful. "Here's the invite." He hustled out the door, and ran through driving snow to tumble into his car from the passenger side. Briefly, he waved from the driver's seat, and Sam waved back, watching him pull out into the thin traffic. Sam shook his head, and returned to the counter, and stuck the invitation into his jacket draped over the chair back. The fact that Gabriel had taken it upon himself to hand-deliver the invitation even on one of his bad days made Sam feel inexplicably warm.

Lucifer waltzed in from the back room and tilted his head. "What's got you so happy?"

"Oh—" Sam blushed. He waved his hand. "Nothing, nothing. Gabriel just invited me to that Christmas party or whatever." He tapped the counter and smiled at Lucifer. "You just missed him."

Lucifer laughed. "I see." He settled a cello more securely against the wall and headed toward his work area, sat down facing the window, and watched fat flakes of snow drop down from the cloudy sky. A pinkish tint colored the light streaming through the window. "That boy is always in a hurry."

Sam snorted. "_Boy_? He's like 35." He grinned over his shoulder at Lucifer, who shot him a smirk and a wink.

"All my brothers are sweet little boys in my eyes." He leaned his elbows back against his bench with a sigh. "Ah, I love them a lot but sometimes they're tricky." He chuckled.

Sam shook his head.


	21. The Serpent

(Quick fyi: It's been updating slow the past week because I've been busy packing up my dorm room and stuff. My last day on campus is tomorrow. Hopefully once I get home I'll write quicker, but in any case we are, in fact, nearing the end. Gird your loins.)

_And now all your love will be exorcised _  
_And we will find your sayings to be paradox_  
_And it's an even sum_  
_It's a melody_  
_It's a battle cry_  
_It's a symphony_

- Florence + the Machine, "Seven Devils"

Sam swirled the wine in his glass. It tasted bitter—too astringent for his tastes. Lucifer, on the other hand, seemed to enjoy it. He'd been through half a bottle on his own. Gabriel stood beside Sam with a flute of pink champagne balanced in his fingers and his soft little wings pressed against the wall, and they both watched Lucifer and Michael in the center of the room, waltzing to a pleasant, simple tune Raphael tapped out at the piano. Uriel caught Sam's eye from across the room and nodded politely. Sam tossed his hand up in a quick wave. He'd gone past the awkward stage of intruding upon a family gathering and enjoyed himself, just relaxing with Gabe and observing the others.

Truthfully, he wasn't the only person not related to the D'Angelo family. A few close family friends milled about as well—Crowley and Meg, Castiel and Balthazar. That was all. He was honestly surprised Dean hadn't found some way to accompany Cas, but Castiel would be going to the Singer-Harvelle-Winchester gathering the next evening, so that might have been why.

Gabriel jabbed Sam with his elbow and pointed when Michael tripped on Lucifer's foot and they stumbled. He snickered. Sam shook his head with a broad grin. Seeing Lucifer affected by the alcohol so clearly was pretty damn amusing. More so when Lucifer raised his middle finger to Gabe.

Gabriel only giggled into his glass—and it sent a little echo up.

Sam snorted.

Meg sidled up with a torpid smirk. She tugged on the edge of her ever-present leather jacket—and Sam wondered at how stubborn she must have been to convince her demon of a father to allow her to wear a leather jacket to a Christmas party. Even Balthazar wore a buttoned shirt instead of one of his many v-necks. Sam himself wore a soft argyle sweater over one of his many dress shirts, with the sleeves pushed up to the elbows as always, and a nice pair of jeans and boots. Nice as he could get, without squandering away all of his hard-earned work-study cash.

She drawled out a sultry, "What're you boys up to?" and planted a hand on her hip.

"Watching Old Scratch there make a fool of himself." Gabriel winked at her.

She barked out a laugh. Looked over her shoulder with a raised eyebrow. "He's certainly doing a damn good job of it." She crossed her arms. Her eyes flicked up to a spot just over their heads and she pulled a wide, feral grin. She turned away with a shake of her head. She cupped her hands to her mouth. "HEY CLARENCE!"

Castiel's head snapped up and he met her eyes from across the room immediately, like a trained dog. Sam held back a laugh. Cas tilted his head and squinted, inquisitive. Meg's lip curled back. All eyes were on her, Gabe, and Sam.

"That look like mistletoe to you?" She jerked a thumb back toward Sam and Gabriel.

Sam looked up, as did everyone else in the room. A sprig of mistletoe hung about a foot above his head, just to the left and shadowed in the corner. He blushed and looked down.

Castiel's lips twitched in that way they did when he knew he shouldn't smile, but wanted to. (It annoyed the hell out of Dean, but Sam thought it was hilarious. Not so much at that moment, though.) "That is definitely mistletoe. Why?" He smiled outright, lips pulling back from his gums and nose crinkling.

Sam pinched the bridge of his nose between two fingers. He peeked from the corner of his eyes and saw Gabriel shift uncomfortably under the stares of everyone in the room—scarlet face and hunched shoulders. Sam sighed. A wolf-whistle broke from near the piano and Sam looked up to glare at Balthazar.

Meg laughed. "C'mon! It's tradition. Kiss." She made a motion with her hands, like she was ready to push them together if need be. She raised her eyebrows. "Romance the man!"

Sam rolled his eyes. "Seriously, Meg?" He scoffed. "In front of a bunch of people? Hardly romantic." He pursed his lips. Pulled a face.

Meg let out a heaving sigh. She fluttered his eyelashes. "Now everyone's gonna be so disappointed."

"He likes it when you bite his lip!"

Gabriel jerked and flipped both his middle fingers at Balthazar. "Shut the hell up, you Limey!"

"_Yank_!"

Gabriel stuck his tongue out.

Michael clapped his hands once over his head. "No fighting! It's Christmas." He threw a charming grin around the room, face flushed. Probably from champagne. "Now, come on. Just a little peck on the cheek and I bet she'll leave you alone." He spread his hands out, placating, and wobbled a little. Lucifer shuffled forward and placed a palm against his lower back to steady him, a serious expression across his face and chill eyes fixed on Sam and Gabriel.

Sam shrugged, uncomfortable. He sighed and turned his head to whisper, "You okay with that?"

Gabriel groaned. "Fine! Fine." He grabbed a fistful of Sam's sweater in each hand and yanked him down to press their lips together. Sam's eyes widened and he flung his arms out to catch his balance, leaning on the wall. He grunted. Gabriel's mouth was very warm and very soft and very, very sweet. He smelled a little boozy, but then again, so did Sam. Sam breathed in sharply through his nose, and when Gabriel pulled away he licked his lips, feeling his face heat up. Gabriel stared at him for five seconds (Sam wasn't counting—he _wasn't_) before stepping back and looking away.

Gabe made a noise in his throat and inched away from Sam—He twisted past Meg, toward the other people in the room, who had returned to whatever they'd been doing before, for the most part. Michael looked guilty, and reached for him with a frown. "Hey, Gabriel, wait." Sam watched Gabriel flinch away, and winced himself when Lucifer's arm snapped out like a shot and his fingers tightened visibly around Gabe's upper arm.

Gabriel froze.

It was clear Lucifer's grip hurt. The fabric of Gabe's shirt twisted beneath his fingers. Sam frowned, pushing off from the wall. Meg followed his gaze and scrunched her eyebrows together.

Lucifer held Gabriel in place and leaned close to him, taking over his personal space and whispering low and fast and angry. Something sharp hung in his expression and nostrils flared. Meg moved forward and Sam put out a hand to hold her back. "Don't..."

The others began to notice the brothers' little argument in the middle of the room. Crowley made his way toward his daughter and grabbed her by the wrist. "Meg, we're going. He's drunk and I don't want you around him when he's drunk." He shook her arm. Meg grimaced and followed her father outside. The sound of the front door rang out loud and several people flinched. Raphael sat silent at the piano, puzzled. Uriel caught his eye with a nod and Raphael slid off the bench and joined him by the couch. Lucifer noticed Castiel's befuddled stare and leveled a glare on him. Castiel backed away, and Balthazar pulled in front of him protectively—reminding everyone there that he was the one who raised Cas for several years.

Lucifer sneered at him. "_What_?" His fingers contracted and Gabriel hissed, reaching his other arm across to pull at Lucifer's wrist with wide eyes—pupils blown wide. "See something you don't like?" He dragged Gabriel closer.

Sam pressed back against the wall. He'd never _ever_ seen Lucifer like this, and while he was sure the copious amounts of wine flowing all night had something to do with it, there was no way Lucifer was reacting purely do to alcohol.

"Lucifer!" Michael grabbed his older brother's shoulder with a glare. Lucifer shrugged him off.

"You know something, Angelface?" Lucifer moved in close to Gabriel, breathing the words out into his airspace. He raised his other hand into the air, fingers splayed and palm out. His voice came out slurred, somewhat. "You're kind of a _slut_. Kali, Crowley, Balthazar, Abaddon, and now Sam? In a month. Whore."

"Fuck you!" Gabriel struggled against Lucifer but his grasp was too tight, too strong, too steady. Lucifer jerked him in closer, 'til their chests nearly touched and their noses brushed.

Lucifer bared his teeth and let Gabriel go and before anyone even processed what had happened, the back of his hand connected with Gabriel's cheek with a smack. Gabriel stumbled away as Lucifer growled, "Watch your language, you little shithead." He sneered down at his brother. Tugged on his bowtie with a disappointed expression. And he left. Straight out the front door. Michael shouted his name, angry and worried, and ran after him. The door closed with a violent slam.

The atmosphere in the room melted slowly. Balthazar allowed himself to step away from Castiel, who seemed shaken. Sam clenched and unclenched his jaw. Finally let out a strangled, "What the fuck just happened."

Raphael just shook his head.

Uriel exuded a calm fury, shoulders stiff. "I am going to have a word with my son." He straightened the cuff of his suit jacket and strode across the room. "Winchester, be a dear and help Gabriel out." He made it to the door just as the engine of Lucifer's SUV roared to life, and slammed his way outside with a shout. The car pulled out. They could hear Uriel shouting "Nicholas Luciferius D'Angelo, you pull over _right now_!"

The car was gone.

Sam hurried to Gabriel's side. Gabe had sunk to his knees with his head bowed, hands trembling. He ran his hands across his face and Sam set a palm in soothing circular motions against his spine. "Gabriel...?" He leaned down, kneeling on the carpet, and lowered his head to try and catch Gabe's eyes. Gabriel avoided eye contact. His eyes, normally a clear and bright gold, had gone muddy in the dim light and shone, unfocused and glazed. "Gabe." Sam pulled him upright, and into his arms. Gabriel went without a fuss.

Uriel returned, and slammed the door behind him with a bang. Gabriel didn't so much as flinch. He just leaned on Sam and breathed harsh and shallow with shaking shoulders. No tears, though. Just the threat of them. Sam's eyebrows drew together.

"Gabriel, are you alright?" What a stupid question. Sam cursed himself and drew his arms around Gabe's body, as comforting as he could be.

Uriel placed a hand on Sam's bicep, and the other on the back of Gabriel's head. He shook his head and frowned. "The last time he got like this was when their parents died." He sighed, heavily. "He seems to trust you, and I doubt handing him off to someone else would be a good idea, so..." He squeezed Sam's arm lightly. "Could you get him into bed?"

Sam nodded, and gave Uriel a mirthless smile. A gesture of solidarity. Uriel clapped him on the back in wordless thanks.

Sam pulled Gabriel along, down the hallway. "C'mon Gabe." He avoided looking at the blooming red stretch of skin across Gabriel's cheek and placed a hand at the back of his neck in encouragement. Gabriel leaned into his touch, a good sign, but his eyes remained unfocused and he moved stiffly. Sam herded him into his bedroom, and guided him down to sit on the bed. The mattress dipped under both of their weight, and they sat for several minutes in complete silence. Gabriel's breathing had steadied and deepened. Sam chewed on the edge of his thumbnail before speaking up. "Gabriel, why did he hit you...?"

Gabriel's shoulders tightened. He looked down at the floor, and finally moved on his own, reaching up to rub at his eyes as tears threatened to spill. He leaned forward and curled in on himself with a tiny, broken sound. Sam rubbed his back, just under the costume wings' base. "Shhh it's okay. This the first time he's done something like this?" He laid a hand on Gabriel's knee. Gabriel reached down and laced their fingers together, and shook his head.

Sam frowned. "Michael said he'd never hit, though." He licked his lips.

Gabriel let out a laugh—in the loosest sense of the word—and his mouth twisted viciously. "Oh, he'd never hurt Michael. He loves Michael the most." His eyes flicked to the side, clear again, and he looked at Sam for a long time before continuing, a few loose hairs hanging down in his eyes. "But—and daddy doesn't know this—sometimes, when he's angry, he takes it out on me. He seems nice. But he's a mean, mean drunk." He snorted. "Luckily he doesn't drink too often or I'd be a walking bruise 24/7." He sat up straighter, and Sam slid his palm up to cup at the back of Gabriel's neck again. Gabriel closed his eyes and turned his head to press his cheek against Sam's warm hand.

"I'm sorry, about all this..." Sam's eyebrows went up, in his oh-so-common concerned puppy expression.

Gabriel shook his head. "'S not your fault, biscuit." He grimaced. "Apparently it's mine, for bein' a slut, and taking his—as he put it—'property.'" Gabe leaned into Sam. Sam wrapped an arm around his waist. One wing bent awkwardly as it crushed between their bodies. Sam stiffened.

Gabriel let out a bitter laugh. "He's a little possessive of everything he touches, it seems." He shrugged, a violent, stunted movement. Let out a shaky sigh and rubbed at his damp eyes. His voice lowered. "He calls me a whore. At least I'm not a controlling, incestuous abuser." He snarled and drew his legs up onto the bed, tucking them underneath himself. Sam frowned deeper, and steadied him.

"What?"

Gabriel swore. "Nothin'."

Sam nodded. "Okay. Yeah, alright." He caught Gabriel's eye. "Anyway, you should rest. Do you want some ice, or...?" He attempted a smile. Managed not much more than a grimace. Gabriel's lips curved and he tapped Sam's collarbone. Leaned close.

"Don't wanna be alone in the house when everyone's gone." He pulled in a deep breath.

Sam nodded. He shifted, and maneuvered so that he pulled Gabriel down and they lay side by side. He wrapped his arms around Gabriel and whispered, soft and warm, "We'll just stay like this for a bit and when the others go I'll make sure the door's locked, and stay the night. Alright?" He rubbed circles against Gabriel's side with his thumb. Gabriel nodded and closed his eyes.

"Okay."


	22. The Deceiver

(Hey darlings. We're nearing the end. Have a little tidbit while I figure out how to set up the dramatic conclusion. ;) You're gonna hate me so much when this is all over.)

_I'm gonna get ya, get ya_  
_ Oh, ah, oh_  
_ I wanna taste the way that you bleed, oh_  
_ You're my kill of the night_

- Gin Wigmore, "Kill of the Night"

Sam checked every lock in the house with Gabriel trailing behind him. Every curtain or blind drawn closed. Each window shut. They made their way through, securing everything and shutting off lights as they went. Finally, they retreated back into Gabriel's bedroom, and Gabe bundled a set of pajamas into Sam's arms. "Some of Lucifer's old clothes." He scratched his neck. "Should fit." His expression was strained, but tried so hard to be cheerful and reassuring. Sam pressed his hand against Gabriel's jaw. Gabe hummed and it vibrated through Sam's fingers.

"Thank you." Sam smiled, and changed into the shirt and pants while Gabriel slunk into the bathroom to brush his teeth and change. Sam looked at the bathroom door, thoughtful, the pants loose around his narrow hips, chewing on the edge of his thumbnail. He sat in the armchair, and waited for Gabriel to reappear.

Gabriel emerged from the bathroom accompanied by the loud rush of the toilet flushing, flicking a few stray drops of water from his hands. He paused, and met Sam's eyes. Raised an eyebrow, tilted his head, crossed his arms in a way that indicated clear discomfort. "What?"

Sam shook his head. "Nothing." He looked down and studied the lines in his palms. "You should sleep." He smiled.

Gabriel settled on the edge of his bed, and stared at Sam for a long silent while.

He looked away, at the instruments hung on his wall, and nodded, licked his lips, and slithered his way under the sheets before reaching out a hand and flicking off his bedside lamp. The dark settled around them with a sigh—comforting. Sam's eyes adjusted fast, and he made out the curve of Gabriel's shoulders in the shadows. Kept an eye on him. The way he could see the moment Gabe dropped off into unconsciousness unsettled him—it was an abrupt thing, a sudden relaxation in the shoulders and a deepening and reduction in his breathing.

Sam chewed on his nail.

The night passed with no incident, of course, and Sam drifted into slumber sometime around 3 am. He woke to a crick in his neck and brassy eyes inches away from his face. He started.

"Gabriel—" He took a steadying breath, recovering from the slight shock, and relaxed against the back of the chair. "Is something wrong?"

Gabe laughed, and it sounded lighter than the night before and more genuine. "Just making sure you didn't die in your sleep." He winked. Sam rolled his eyes and shoved gently at his shoulder so he could stand up and stretch the stiffness from his limbs. Gabriel eyed him, curious and a little inappropriate. Sam raised his eyebrows at him. Planted a fist on his hip, rolled his eyes again, held out his hand and said, "C'mere."

Gabriel blinked and glanced from side to side, eyebrows pulling together and transforming his expression into one of comical, exaggerated confusion. He smirked, and stepped closer. "What?"

Sam sighed, and leaned down to brush his mouth against Gabriel's, brief and dry and soft.

Gabriel's eyebrows shot up, apparently trying to flee his face. His eyes boggled. His cheeks colored.

Sam laughed. "Idiot."

Then Gabriel grinned wide and dragged Sam down 'til their lips locked again.

Sam half-stumbled forward, and pushed Gabriel onto the bed—onto his back—and planted his knees on either side of Gabe's hips, and pressed his palms against Gabriel's jaw, and curled his fingers through Gabriel's hair, and kissed Gabriel into the sheets.

Gabriel threw his arms around Sam's shoulders, and gave as good as he got.


	23. Final Intermission

_The static of your arms, it is the catalyst_  
_You're a chemical that burns there is nothing like this_  
_It's the purest element but it's so volatile_  
_An equation heaven sent, a drug for angels_

- Florence + the Machine, "My Boy Builds Coffins"

"Lucifer..." Michael flexed his fingers against Lucifer's broad back—and really how one brother could be so solid and the other so tiny, Michael never understood, but he supposed it was fun to introduce Lucifer and Gabriel as his older brothers and get expressions of mild shock, and even better when he brought in Raphael and people squirmed, dying to ask "But why is he black" and better still when he told them Lucifer was almost twenty years older than him. He reached up to scrape his nails through his brother's hair. Imagine how they'd act if they only knew all of the truth. Such horrified looks.

He craved it a little bit.

Lucifer kissed the corner of his mouth and grinned and said, "What?"

"You need to apologize to Gabriel." Michael planted his hands on either side of Lucifer's face.

Lucifer scowled. "Fine." He slipped his fingers down Michael's side.

Michael, content with even such a grudging answer, let himself unravel in his brother's arms.


	24. The Adversary

_This is your racing heart_  
_Can you feel it? Can you feel it?_  
_Pumps through your veins_  
_Can you feel it? Can you feel it?_

- Bastille, "Laura Palmer"

Sam did not go to work the next day.

For obvious reasons.

He stayed at Gabriel's house, after calling his brother and explaining what Cas evidently had trouble wording—"Lucifer's a violent dick, I'm gonna stay with Gabe a bit, make sure Castiel doesn't worry too much."

He lounged on the couch with the TV on mute and leaned his head back against the cushions to watch Gabriel go about making breakfast with his back bared to the morning sunlight. The lines of his tattoo traced over his skin stark and black. His boxers shone sleek and red and the muscles in his calves shifted in the most fascinating way. Sam stared. The smell of pancakes—strong and burnt and floury—wrapped around Sam's senses cloyingly. He wondered if there was such a thing as a pancake that didn't suffocate you with its scent. Probably not. A little bit of cinnamon underlaid it. Gabriel briefly glanced in his direction while he flipped a pancake and Sam smiled at him as blinding as he could.

Gabe twitched and smiled and turned away.

Sam laughed.

They ate almost silently. Occasionally mentioned something that popped into their minds. Never spoke of the night before, or even of Lucifer at all. Sam took his pancakes with peanut butter and margarine, and Gabriel at his drowning in strawberry syrup and chocolate sauce and whipped cream. It looked both nauseating and slightly miraculous. Gabe clearly enjoyed it.

After, they sat in Gabriel's room together in the armchair, shifting and kissing and little sounds escaped from Gabriel's mouth if Sam so much as put his lips anywhere on his skin—mouth, throat, shoulder, wrist, back to the mouth. Surprisingly fragile considering how flirtatious and loaded with innuendo he always acted. Sam kept his hands on Gabe's waist.

The phone rang and Gabriel took a second to compose himself before answering. "Hello?" His face drew tight. "Nicholas." He pulled in a deep breath and settled against Sam, to use him as an anchor, leaning his cheek on Sam's shoulder and fisting his free hand in Sam's shirt. He licked his lips. "Apologize...? I—you never apologize." He frowned. "Alright but you can't come alone. Bring someone with you." He closed his eyes and sighed against Sam's collarbone. "Yes, alright Nick. Alright." He placed the phone in its cradle and slid his other hand into Sam's hair.

"Lucifer is coming over in an hour, with Michael and Uriel and Raphael." He opened his mouth on Sam's jaw. "Stay with me, please."

Sam nodded. "Of course." He wrapped his arms around Gabe's comparatively smaller body and pushed his face against his neck and breathed in the smoky, chocolate-y smell that always followed him. He kissed a line down Gabriel's neck and Gabe breathed fast through his nose and slid his hands down Sam's arm and tilted his face up.

So simple and soft and easy. It felt completely natural to run his hands all over Gabe and kiss him until he crumbled apart in the sheets with a mural of Heaven on the ceiling and angels lining the walls.

The doorbell clamored almost an hour later, when they had both finally dragged on clothes, and Sam stood staunch in the living room beside the piano, with his arms hanging at his side and his feet planted in the carpet. Gabe didn't wear his wings but his shirt held a sheer sunrise colored design in their place with little delicate feathers lined out in thread and dye. He adjusted the cuff of one sleeve and opened the door.

Lucifer stood on the threshold in deep burgundy and stark white, dressed to the nines, flanked by Michael and Raphael and Uriel, serious-faced and stony. He made his cautious way into the house and they followed. Gabriel slid out of the way like it was a reflex and Sam guessed it probably was, all things considered.

Gabe picked at the hem of his shirt.

Lucifer drifted inside, drew closer to the piano and Sam. Uriel planted himself at the front door and crossed his arms. Raphael stood nearby and glowered at Lucifer. Michael hovered uncertainly between the door and his eldest brother and kept his eyes to the ground before he seemed to make up his mind and stepped toward Lucifer with downturned mouth. He briefly caught Sam's eye, and Sam nodded at him in greeting, wondering at the uncertain way Michael held himself.

Lucifer held out one arm, and Michael gravitated toward it. Sam tilted his head. Interesting.

Lucifer held out his other arm, as he fastened his left hand around the back of Michael's neck in a strangely maternal way. Gabriel gave a stiff shrug and let himself be pulled against Lucifer's chest in a hug. Lucifer spoke, then—"I was stubborn, but Michael convinced me to apologize." He squeezed Gabriel's shoulder. "And, Angelface, I'm sorry. I really am. You know I never meant to hit you, right?" Something glinted chilly in his grayish eyes, something lay hard under his easy smile. It said the unspoken words, the "If you tell anyone that wasn't the first time I hit you, I'll snap your neck."

Sam tensed.

Gabriel nodded. "I know." He closed his eyes and breathed shallow. "I know you love me, Luci." His words came out a little stilted and a little stiff and a little too enthusiastic. Gabriel forced a broad smile. Lucifer smirked down at him and kissed the top of his head.

"Such a good boy." He pulled Michael in closer as well. Waved his fingers at Raphael and Uriel. "C'mon, everyone. Family hug." Raphael and Uriel looked distinctly uncomfortable, to Sam, but they obliged and wound their way over, and the D'Angelo family became a kind of mess of tangled limbs and contrasted shades of fabrics and skin tones and eye colors.

Sam stood by awkwardly.

Something clicked loud and echoing.

Uriel stiffened and stepped back and Sam saw creamy afternoon sunlight glint off the barrel of a gun. Lucifer raised his eyes to Sam's with a grin, then moved them to his adoptive father's face. No one moved. No one really breathed, either.

"Take Raph and go, father."

The gun raised to stare between Uriel's eyes.

Uriel clutched his son's arm and backed away. Lucifer followed their every move with his pistol. Uriel and Raphael fled the house and the door banged shut behind them loud and startling. The sound of the car's engine flooded the air and then they pulled away. Sam prayed they called the police, as the gun leveled toward him. Michael stood still in absolute shock, frozen to the spot. Gabriel dared not even squirm, smashed tight against Lucifer's chest with an arm wrapped around him like a python.

Sam exhaled softly.

Lucifer held the gun steady and looked at Michael beside him. He raised his eyebrows, commanding. Michael stepped toward him. Lucifer smiled serene and pleased and fit his lips to Michael's mouth with a growl. "You take this gun and point it at dear Sammy, or I gut you." He kissed his little brother again.

Michael's throat moved visibly as he swallowed and nodded and made a tiny noise before wrapping trembling fingers around the gun and pulling it from Lucifer's hold. Lucifer reached up to pat his cheek, and kissed him once more. He stepped back, and pulled Gabriel with him, and slid his right hand up from Gabriel's waist to Gabriel's skull, and tangled his fingers in Gabriel's hair with a tug.

Gabriel winced.

Sam licked his lips.

Lucifer's left hand dug through the inner pocket of his jacket and pulled out a switchblade. Military grade from the looks of it. The blade flickered out smooth and shiny at the touch of a button. Lucifer leered at Sam and turned his sickly smile to Gabriel.

Sam's eyes widened. He dropped to his knees with a shout and lunged toward Michael, whose poor trigger discipline caused him to shoot a hole in the floor before Sam shot to his feet and incapacitated him—heel of his palm to the chin, elbow to the ear, swift kick to the back of the knees and he disabled the gun and threw it across the room. It skidded over the wooden flooring and Sam turned toward Lucifer just as the older man laughed and jammed his knife into the soft flesh underneath Gabriel's ribcage.

Gabriel sent out a strangled whine, eyes flying wide and pupils blowing out big and black. His throat and mouth worked but he couldn't manage to say a word. Sam's vision narrowed down to the two D'Angelo brothers standing in a twisted embrace and joined by a bloody blade.

Lucifer jerked the knife up, once, and twisted, before pulling it free and letting it clatter to the ground in a smear of scarlet. Gabriel's knees buckled, and Lucifer reached out with his now free, dirty hand to hold him up, let him lean into him, with soft shushing noises.

"Oh Angel, it's okay. Shhhh." He pressed his words against Gabriel's temple.

Gabriel's eyes lost their focus and his head lolled forward. He slumped. Lucifer let him slide to the floor.

Sam snapped back to life and grunted something incoherent. He snatched the tainted switchblade from the floorboards and moved faster than he knew he could and grabbed Lucifer with one hand planted firm on his forehead and the other sneaking up to press the blade against Lucifer's throat in a silver cold threat.

Lucifer stilled in Sam's arms, with a low chuckle. "Oh Sam, you wouldn't."

Sam gritted his teeth.

The knife slipped slick through his fingers leaving streaks of crimson on his skin and hit the ground again with a loud clatter. Sam twisted Lucifer's arms behind his back and forced him down to his knees before twisting hard enough to dislocate Lucifer's left elbow and snap his wrist. Lucifer grunted and tried to wrench himself away. Sam grabbed the knife again and smashed the handle against Lucifer's skull. Lucifer wilted away from him.

Sam stood.

He breathed heavy.

He looked at the bodies around him—two unconscious and one...

He didn't want to think about it.

He pulled his cell from his pocket and dialed 9-1-1.

"Hello, police?"

His voice came out hoarse and frantic and thick with impending tears.

"There's been an attack."

(I am so sorry. One more little "chapter" after this.)


	25. The End: Sad Version

_And all that remain is the arms of the angels  
When you've receded into loam _

_And they're picking at your bones _

_We'll come home.  
Quiet now, will we gather to conjure the rain down?_

- The Decemberists, "Calamity Song"

**Local man lives up to middle name, assaulting one brother and fatally stabbing the other.**

_Nicholas Luciferius D'Angelo (40), a seemingly wholesome resident of Sioux Falls, South Dakota, recently stabbed his younger brother Gabriel (35) to death over an unspecified romantic dispute. Soon after, it was discovered Mr. D'Angelo has also been taking advantage of his youngest brother Michael (23) for the past eleven years. Mr. D'Angelo currently awaits his official sentence, but it's theorized to be either life imprisonment or capital punishment for murder in the first degree, statutory rape, and sibling incest._

_Witnesses claim Mr. D'Angelo visited Gabriel D'Angelo to apologize for previously striking him in an argument at a Christmas party. Mr. Nicholas D'Angelo brought along both of his other brothers as well as his adoptive father, Uriel D'Angelo. Uriel D'Angelo (52) and son Raphael (29) state that the situation was normal, until Nicholas D'Angelo pulled a pistol from his jacket and threatened them to leave at gunpoint. They fled in the car they came in, and called the police upon leaving the property._

_A fifth witness who wishes to be known only as "S" informs us that at that point, Nicholas D'Angelo forced Michael D'Angelo to take the gun and train it on "S." "S" incapacitated Michael D'Angelo and disabled the gun, but not before Nicholas D'Angelo drew a knife and mortally wounded Gabriel D'Angelo with a severe puncture wound to the chest. Gabriel D'Angelo died almost immediately._

_"S" disarmed Nicholas D'Angelo and used his apparent self-defense skills to disable Mr. D'Angelo before calling the police._

_The entire event is a tragedy, and we offer our condolences to the remaining members of the D'Angelo family and any friends of Gabriel D'Angelo._

Sam rubbed a palm over his mouth, and turned from the front page to the obituaries. He read out loud, to Dean and Castiel, voice cold and steady.

"D'ANGELO, Gabriel (Callidus) 1978 ~ 2013

Gabriel Callidus D'Angelo passed away over the weekend after being brutally attacked by his eldest brother in his own home. He was the second oldest of Uriel D'Angelo's four sons, one of three adopted by Mr. D'Angelo after the tragic death of their birth parents Charles and Rebecca Rozen. Gabriel graduated from St. Olaf's in Minnesota with a degree in music theory and composition, and returned to Sioux Falls to work from his home as a composer. He never married or had children, but had many friends and loved ones who will miss him dearly.

He was an avid musician, playing over five different instruments, and an amateur chef. He had a passion for angels and chocolate.

Uriel, Raphael and Michael D'Angelo would like to express the deepest gratitude for the many kind words in the face of this terrible tragedy, and will be informing friends and other relatives of the date of the funeral."

Sam slammed the newspaper shut and dropped it on the gaudy faux-marble top of the kitchen table. He buried his face in his hands. Dean cleared his throat and laid a hand on his shoulder, awkward but wanting to comfort his little brother. Castiel stood beside him, eyes downturned and expression solemn.

"Sorry, Sammy." Dean squeezed his shoulder. "'M real sorry..."

Sam pulled him into a crushing hug.

"Me too."


	26. Blessings: Happy Version Alt End

The happier alternate ending, to make up for breaking all of your hearts. 3

_There are angels in your angles _  
_There's a low moon caught in your tangles _  
_There's a ticking at the sill _  
_There's a purr of a pigeon to break the still of day _

- The Decemberists, "Of Angels and Angles"

Gabriel woke in a hospital bed.

Beside it, Sam sat slumped asleep in a chair—and hazily, Gabriel wondered how he'd gotten them to let him stay in the room considering they weren't related. Probably lied.

Gabe smiled with a soft sound from his throat. He felt muzzy and distant, and the room seemed to shift if he moved his head the wrong way. He reached a hand out, and the IV cord followed after it, and he set his fingers on Sam's hand, which rested on the edge of the mattress. He looked at their hands, and at how much smaller his were in comparison. How, even though Sam's hands dwarfed most anything, his fingers tapered delicately, elegant and pretty. Whereas Gabriel's were just... little. He tapped at Sam's knuckles.

Sam jerked awake.

His eyes focused fast on Gabriel and Gabe noticed how bright they were—deep blue and yellow-y bright brown with high contrast and a nice shine. He smiled at Sam. "'Lo." He tilted his head, with squinted eyes. The lights were... bright. To say the least.

Sam grinned, relief flooding his expression and softening his body. He turned his hand so the palm faced up and wrapped his fingers loose around Gabriel's wrist. He leaned forward a bit. "Hey, Gabriel." His voice drifted out soft and gentle and husky and wonderful to Gabe's ears. "How are you?"

Gabriel gave him a lopsided grin. "'M okay... Little... Funny feeling." His shoulder twitched in an aborted shrug. "Hungry." He licked his lips. They were really dry. Kind scratchy. He caught Sam's eyes again with a sway. "Worried you, huh?"

Sam shook his head. "You have no idea." He reached for the glass of water perched on the table beside the bed, scooting around a bit so he could hold the cup to Gabe's mouth. Gabriel rolled his eyes, but acknowledged the fact that if he tried to hold it himself he'd probably end up with a wet lap, and let Sam tilt the glass so he could drink. He stretched his arm out along the sheets—they were kind of scratchy. Settled his fingers on Sam's knee, now that it was more in his reach. Sam laughed when Gabriel tried to squeeze his knee but found his fingers too weak.

He placed his own hand over Gabriel's and smiled down at him. "I thought you died, you know?" He slide his hand up Gabriel's arm. He leaned forward, and touched their foreheads together. Gabriel looked at him with slightly crossed eyes and a small grin, and Sam continued, "Uh—Lucifer, he's in jail. While you were out, they convicted him. And uh... Well. Everyone's been really worried. Your family is outside, resting. I said I'd keep an eye on you for them... Michael wants to talk to you." He kissed the tip of Gabriel's nose and leaned back. "I'll send him in and wait outside, okay?"

"Sure thing." Gabe folded his hands on his lap. He watched Sam leave the room—watched him briefly pause in the doorway before disappearing into the hallway.

Michael walked into the room, hands in his pockets, eyes fixed on his shoes, hair a little wild—not so tidy and slick as usual. He licked his lips and stopped beside Gabriel's bed. "Hey, Gabriel." He shifted awkwardly. His eyes flicked up damp and nervous. "I... wanted to apologize."

Gabriel frowned. "Apolo—" He sat up straighter. "No. Don't you dare—none of this is your fault, Mike." He held his hand out, and beckoned Michael closer, eyebrows pulled together. "C'mere. Come here, baby brother."

Michael's face crumpled, and he rushed forward, (carefully) wrapping his arms around Gabriel tight as he could without restricting his breathing. He buried his face in Gabe's neck as Gabriel slipped his arms around his chest. Gabriel's fingers tangled in Michael's shirt.

"Hey, hey, it's okay." Gabriel kissed Michael's cheek. "Get up here." He tugged at Mike, until Michael pulled himself up onto the bed to lay beside Gabriel, arms still locked around the smaller man's body.

Michael took a deep—if shaky—breath. "I was so _scared_."

Gabriel closed his eyes, and managed to turn on his side and hug his brother in a way that didn't tug on his IV. He nestled against Michael with a soft sigh. "I know, Mike, I know." He brushed a few stray strands of hair from Michael's face. "But we're okay now. We're all okay. Nick is... Sam told me. That Nick is in jail."

Michael laughed, bitter and quiet. "Yeah." He wrapped his fingers around Gabriel's wrist. "Charged with all sorts of things like statutory rape and domestic abuse and attempted murder. You know. _Fun_ _stuff_." He smiled tightly.

"God." Gabriel stroked his fingers through Michael's hair, in a steady soothing motion. "We're all pretty fucked up, huh?"

Michael nodded. "Pretty fucked, yeah."

"But we gotta remember..." Gabriel took a breath. "We gotta remember, this is not our fault. You got that, Michael? None of this is your fault, or my fault. It's all Nicholas. He's the bad one who tried to hurt us all." He chewed on his lip. "And now we'll be okay because he's all locked up."

Michael nodded again. "Yeah..."

...

"Mr. D'Angelo..." The man—Officer Krantz, his nametag read—tapped his stack of paperwork on the table and set it down again, straight and careful. "Were you aware of Nicholas and Michael's... relationship?"

Gabriel snorted. He rubbed his hands over his face, leaning his elbows on the table. "Oh, I knew. How could I not know? Nick would use _my_ guest bedroom. But you know... What was I supposed to do?" He scratched at his back. He needed... something there. Needed his stupid wings or a backpack or something to ground him. He sighed. "You know I used to keep track of how often my brother threatened me? I lost count a few years ago. If I were to, I dunno, tell someone about my oldest brother taking advantage of my littlest brother... Well you can understand that when someone promises to _cut your fingers off_ if you tell someone, all desire to report them kinda... goes out the window." He waved his hand off to the side. "And of course, I wouldn't ever think to report him for abuse. You guys know about that right? About the likelihood of victims to report their abusers? Why would I report him? He loves me, right? Cares about me. He only hurt me because I was being bad or misbehaving. Obviously it was always my fault." Gabriel smiled.

Officer Krantz shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "I... I see." He was a bit of a rookie. Wasn't entirely prepared to deal with this sort of thing. "And uh..." He tapped his pen against his papers. "The others—did they know?" He cleared his throat.

Gabriel shrugged, pulled a face. "Nope." He leaned back in his chair. The hard plastic pressed into his spine. He appreciated that. "Nick kept it all hidden from everyone but me. I was like... his little personal helper." He looked down at his nails (he'd need to cut and maybe paint them when he had the chance, later) rather than meet the officer's eyes.

Krantz nodded. "Alright..." He scribbled something down on the top sheet of paper. "You know what? We'll have someone follow up later, but for now... You can go." He stood, gathering his stack of paperwork in one arm, and left the room. He left the door ajar.

Gabriel scuffed his sneakers—_tasteful_ gold and blue polka dots—against the floor before he stood and made his way to the door. The hall looked deserted, and he thanked God or whoever else for that. Tip-toed his way toward the back exit. He pulled his phone from his pocket and hit speed dial.

Sam picked up just as Gabriel shut the door behind him.

"Gabe? You ready to go?"

Gabriel smiled. "Yeah. Could you uh... come around out back maybe?" He chewed on his lip and stuck one hand in his pocket, leaning against the brick wall of the building. He looked up at the hazy sky. "I'm gonna be honest, the thought of walking across the parking lot right now is terrifying."

"Yeah—Yes, absolutely. Hang tight. I'll be right there."

Gabriel shoved his phone back in his pocket and covered his face with his hands. Took a deep breath. "Jesus Christ."

Sam pulled around the corner in Gabriel's car and honked.

Gabe twitched. He lowered his hands to wave at Sam and made his way to the passenger side, tugging the door open. Before he sat in the car, he tore off his jacket and tossed it in the back seat. He rolled his sleeves up and settled into the seat, and slammed the car door shut. "Hey Sambo."

"Hey. You okay?" Sam pulled back around to the road. The car grumbled.

Gabriel shrugged. He undid a few buttons on his checkered shirt, and sighed, sliding down in his seat. "The stomach stings a bit and I kinda feel like I'm gonna explode, but I'm alright." He fiddled with the edge of his shirt. "Can I go home with you?" He pulled his legs up, and rested his chin on one knee.

"Sure." Sam took his eyes from the road for a split second to shoot Gabe a sweet smile and reached his free arm out to squeeze his shoulder. He turned in the direction of his apartment complex, and flipped his bangs out of his eyes. "Whatever you want. I've got leftovers if you're allowed to eat 'em."

Gabriel grinned. "Yeah, yeah I'm good with food. Mostly healed, the doctor said." His mouth twisted, then. He wrapped his arms around his legs. He sighed. Sam frowned and let his hand drift from Gabe's shoulder to cup at the base of his neck. He pressed his fingertips lightly into the soft skin just under Gabriel's jaw. Moved his thumb in tiny circles.

"..." He pulled into the parking garage at his complex. "Your wings are on my couch." He pulled the keys from the ignition.

Gabriel peered up at him from behind one arm. "Yeah?"

"Yes." Sam leaned forward and pressed a kiss to Gabriel's forehead. Then got out of the car, and walked around the front to open Gabriel's door and take his hand. They took a moment to stand with Sam holding Gabriel tight in his arms, until Gabriel drooped against him. He lifted Gabriel off the ground.

Gabe wrapped his legs around Sam's waist and his arms around Sam's shoulders and whispered, "You're too nice."

Sam shook his head. "No, I just care about you."

Gabriel laughed. "Thank God someone does."

Sam rubbed Gabriel's back before shouldering his way into his apartment. "I'm not the only one, you know." He kicked the door shut behind him. "Your family loves you, and Balthazar and Kali love despite their snark. Crowley loves you. A lot of people love you. Some won't admit it, but they still care." He dropped down onto the couch and set his hands on Gabriel's hips. "I promise."

"Hard promise to keep, Cupcake." Gabriel nuzzled Sam's neck. He leaned back a little in Sam's lap. "Kisses?" Raised his eyebrows with a hopeful glint in his eye.

Sam rolled his eyes. "Fine." He cupped Gabriel's face in his hands, palms soft and warm, and pushed their mouths together, all gentleness and care. Gabriel fisted his hands in the front of Sam's shirt with a small smile, and closed his eyes. He'd just let Sam shower him with little marks of love.

And Sam would gladly oblige.

...

The police never sent someone to follow up on Gabriel's little session. Didn't bother the family at all. Shockingly. Gabriel was just glad he was left alone. He sat on his couch beside Sam, head rested on his shoulder, legs thrown across Sam's lap, watching Star Wars.

Well.

Sam was watching. Gabriel was napping.

Sam slid his arm behind Gabriel's back, with his middle finger hooked through Gabe's belt loop. Gabriel squirmed and mumbled something incoherent and settled down again. Sam smiled. He grabbed the remote and turned the TV off. "Gabriel?" He tilted his head so he could see Gabe's face. Gabriel's mouth twitched. His eyes fluttered open.

"Is the movie over?"

Sam grinned. "Yeah. You wanna go to bed?"

Gabriel squinted at Sam, and bumped their noses together. "Yes." He kissed Sam. "I'm _very_ sleepy." He smiled.

Sam shook his head and bundled Gabriel into his harms. "Yeah? I had no clue."

Gabriel snorted. "You're mean."

"Oh, the meanest."

Gabriel pushed his face against Sam's chest, and drifted off again before Sam even made it to the bedroom. Sam shook his head. He laid Gabriel out in the bed and tucked him in before settling into the chair in the corner. He pulled Gabe's electric cello toward him—one of the many instruments littering the floor—and set about to practice the fingering of a Prokofiev concerto.

Light from the sunset filtered through the tall stained glass bedroom window and sent soft pink light across Gabriel's face.

Sam smiled.


End file.
